


Naglfar Beckons

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: King Loki, Loki Does What He Wants, Loki Needs a Hug, Mortality, Post - Thor 2, Ragnarok, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events on Svartalfheim, Loki takes it upon himself to prepare the Nine Realms for the threat of Thanos' armies. Taking Odin's place on the throne of Asgard, Loki aims to unite the realms in preparation for the oncoming cataclysm.</p><p>But since when have the Trickster god's intentions ever gone to plan?</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

A mournful cry echoed over the barren wastes of Svartalfheim, reverberating from the war blackened dunes of the dark world. A world for the dead. Leagues away, the broken remains of two armies crumbled in testament to a battle of ancient times. The souls of those passed, those whose bodies could never have been reclaimed, seemed to linger, and taint the very air with the feeling of loss. However it was not for these men that the cry was uttered; but for the Trickster God, Loki; so recently passed.

A young warrior knelt over the corpse of his brother, tears pooling in his cloudy blue eyes, only to spill down his dirt stricken cheeks.  The great hammer Mjolnir lay forgotten at his side, as the man wallowed in his grief. A woman’s hand gripped his shoulder, as though to dispel his pain through physical contact.

‘Thor,’ she spoke, ‘We need to move. We don’t have much time.’

‘I cannot leave him here, Jane,’ the man responded with choked breaths ‘I cannot just leave him alone.’

‘We can come back for him later. We have to go! There’s no time!’ Jane replied, her tone becoming more insistent as her eyes anxiously searched the landscape. Ominous clouds were building in the distance, swirling the ash into intricate, shifting patterns, seemingly heralding the oncoming chaos.

Thor stood slowly, reclaiming the mighty hammer as he looked down on his brother. With great effort the man composed himself, wiping the shed tears from his face, and smearing the dirt in their stead.

‘Loki. I swear I will return for you. Rest well, brother. You’ve earned it.’ With that, the God of Thunder turned and began his march back to the transport with Jane in tow. With luck they would be able to reach it before the storm hit, though without the aid of his brother, Thor was unsure of how to return to Asgard. But Norns be damned if that was going to stop him. He would find a way from this gods’ forsaken world and bring death to the fiend who dared to bring war to the realms. He would bring ruin upon the monster who dared to take the life of his mother and brother. After all, who was Malekith, before a God thirsting for justice?

~~~~~~~~~~~

From his vantage point over the dunes, Loki watched as the two lumbered away. Hours passed before he could bring himself to dissolve the projection; to erase the intangible proof of his own demise. His plan had worked. He was free from Asgard’s justice; free to roam the worlds as he wished, without any to hinder him.

Only he wasn’t. For Loki was never truly free, was he? What a cosmic joke for the God of Chaos to be so reined in by circumstance. Held in check through his life by his yearning for Odin’s approval. Kept at bay by his arrogant brother’s lust for attention. Held in chains following his recent disgrace.

But now was not the time to wallow in such things, for there was work to be done. The Mad Titan’s arm was reaching through the cosmos, and few remained to challenge him. The pitiful mortals had barely held their own against Loki himself, never mind the puppet master behind him. Odin’s eye had grown glazed over the centuries, his interests focusing inwards, much to his folly and the detriment of the realms. Thor himself had even come to question the All-Father’s methods more and more in recent times, much to Loki’s grudging approval. Perhaps his brother could have held the Mad Titan at bay, were he in the throne. But alas, Thor knew not of Thanos and his ilk.

Besides, Thor had more pressing matters to attend to. Loki gazed in the direction his brother had left, heedless of the storm raging around him. From his distance, Loki had been unable to hear the words his brother had spoken over his ‘corpse’, though Thor’s obvious reluctance to leave had brought about an ache in his chest; a feeling that was becoming common of late when Loki’s thoughts drifted towards the God of Thunder.

‘Good luck, brother.’ Loki sighed, as small smile gracing the corner of his lips. ‘The gods know you’re going to need it.’

 

 


	2. It Began With An Ending

Chapter 2

The storm continued to batter mercilessly across the ash dunes, but Loki trudged on, heedless of its wrath. Centuries of living with his blundering oaf of a brother, prone to summoning hail and thunder at a mere souring of his mood, had more than fortified him against such trivialities.

Really, the only person likely to suffer in such conditions was that frail mortal woman…  What was her name? Jean? Drain? Something of the sort, no doubt. He hadn’t yet gotten a grasp on the mortals’ unusual names; but then he had hardly paid much interest until recently.

Of his feelings on Thor’s woman, Loki was not quite certain. Granted, she had brought about a change in his brother that Loki had not thought possible. During this little venture Thor had displayed remarkable reasoning of the like he’d previously seemed to find impossible.

But for this, he couldn’t help but feel anger. How dare she? How dare she flitter into Thor’s life and fix all the problems Loki had been endeavouring to solve for centuries? How could she possibly have triumphed where a god had failed, time and time again?

It was a pity really, that the girl had spent so much time wilting under the strain of the Aether. Loki was curious as to the character of the little quim who’d so enraptured his brother. What was it about her that had calmed the mighty Thunderer?

But now was not the time for such trivial thoughts, after all there were more important matters to attend to.

The storm was finally beginning to subside as Loki reached the transport, leaving the crunch of his footsteps to resonate around the desolate hinterland. Green light flashed in his vision as Loki shifted his form into that of an unassuming guard. His familiar green and black armour phased into a far heavier and more cumbersome gold plate. The helmet felt out of place; the horns forming a different balance to that which he was used to.

His face was a rushed job, he could admit. Having been absent from court life for the past two years, Loki had become unfamiliar with the guards that frequented the throne room. This likeness was stolen from one of his own prison guards. He wondered if Odin would even notice.

Loki scoffed in disgust. The All-Father was getting too complacent. He should have anticipated an attack in the same vein of Malekith’s. Loki himself had felt the coming of the convergence; the way in which his skin itched, and his magic swelled to bursting in his core. Asgard’s _fearless leader_ should have seen this coming. Instead he had left the fate of the nine worlds to chance.

It was time for a change. And who better to bring it about than the God of Chaos?

~~~~~~~~

Marching through the wreckage of Asgard’s great throne room was a unique and humbling experience for Loki. The great pillars that he and Thor would play around when they were children, stood scarred and crumbling. Several had fallen like ancient oaks during the turmoil of their recent escape. The thick plate of his armoured boots provided a clear ring to the footsteps that echoed through the vacant room, disturbing the eerie silence that had settled in the wake of the destruction.

Gone was the warm crackle of torches in the sconces. Gone were the soft chuckles of ladies in waiting, gathering in clusters to gossip of current events in court. Gone were the radiant smile, and comforting arms of his mother, seemingly ever present at the side of the throne.

But one thing at least, remained unchanged. Odin stood by the ravaged stump of his throne, staring absently into the distance. He hadn’t even seemed to register the presence of another person. Asgard’s King should be more vigilant.

The man looked far older than Loki remembered; his once shining blue eye, now as hollow and dull as the ruins of the room around him. His shoulders were hunched noticeably, as though the pain of his loss had become a physical burden as well as an emotional one. His grizzled, white mane and beard, features that Loki had always felt distinguished him as a man of wisdom as well as power, now merely struck him as markers of his age.

How was it that Loki was the only one who could see that the man’s years had overtaken him? How could a culture such as the Aesir, so prideful of its strength and valour, accept this steadily wilting man as their king?

Loki’s march came to an end several paces before the broken throne and its broken ruler. Odin finally acknowledged his presence, albeit with a slight flinch of surprise. Loki was unsure if he felt relief or pity when the aged King remained completely ignorant of his false visage. A leader should know the men he surrounds himself with. His failings were quickly becoming unforgivable.

“Forgive me, my liege,” this guard’s voice felt strange on his tongue, “I’ve returned from the Dark World with news.”

“Thor?” the All-Father asked. A spark of hatred bubbled beneath Loki’s cool exterior. Of course the golden son’s wellbeing would be his first priority.

“There’s no sign of Thor, or the weapon,” Loki responded. He made no mention of the woman, for he was certain that Odin had little care of the life of a mere mortal. Hypocrite.

“But…” Loki continued, purposefully leaving the statement empty in order to gauge Odin’s response.

The All-Father turned, at last giving the guard his full attention. The stern gaze that could once have left Loki trembling held no power anymore. “What?” He asked.

“We found a body”

Odin’s eye shifted away. Was that guilt? Surely not. Perhaps it was disappointment; the only emotion Odin had ever felt towards his stolen son.

“Loki.” The false guard merely bowed his head in response. Loki watched as the All-father turned his back and gazed at an indiscernible spot beyond the broken throne. Several moments of strained silence passed before Odin continued, tersely. “You’re dismissed. Leave me.”

As the Trickster god strode out of the barren hall he allowed a mischievous smile to grace his features. Within the next few hours word will have spread throughout the realms, assuming Thor succeeded in defeating Malekith of course. With the cosmos believing him gone, the Trickster was free to cause what mischief he chose.

Loki Odinson was dead.

It was time to kill the king.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Marvel or any of their stuff. Sadly.
> 
> The things I would do to those people.... You know what I mean.


	3. The Crown Slips From Heads Unworthy

Chapter 3

Veiling himself in shadow, Loki sauntered through the ravaged corridors towards the royal chambers; a path as familiar to him as the motion of breathing. His parent’s rooms stood cold and uninviting, and the instant his feet passed the threshold, Loki knew that he would never again feel comfort here as he had as a child.

It had been a common occurrence in his youth, to slip away from his own rooms and knock anxiously on his parent’s door, hoping for protection from the terrors of his dreams. When curled in bed at his mother’s side with Odin’s arm shielding him, Loki had been able to chase away the dark nightmares of crushing cold and isolation. He had never understood why he was plagued by such visions. Of course it all made sense now.

Hours passed before Odin finally made his appearance. The man looked nothing short of exhausted. Sighing heavily, the All-Father collapsed into an ornate chair at his desk crowded with ponderous tomes on every subject from agricultural practice on Vanaheim to ancient tribal customs on Midgard. His head rested on ancient hands, oblivious to the uninvited presence in his home.

 From Loki’s position, he could see the minute movements of the All-Father’s shoulders as he tried to subdue the sobs that threatened to wrack his body.

Sympathy was an emotion Loki believed himself unable to express, but in the sight of Odin’s pain he couldn’t help but feel an ache stirring in his heart. After all, had he not suffered the same loss? For surely it was for Frigga that this man mourned. He would never express such sorrow over the loss of his false son; his political pawn; his stolen relic.

So Loki told himself that this feeling in his chest was not sympathy, but pity.

Regardless, sentiment had any place here.  He had come here to kill this man who had been his father.

Loki took a step forward from his hiding spot, letting his illusion fall. He saw the All-Father tense across the room, and push the chair to the floor in his hurry to stand. His hand moved to a strategically placed blade as he spun to face the intruder. His eyebrows raised in recognition.

“Loki?” He asked, somewhat cautiously. His mouth opened but no words came forth, leaving the most powerful man in all the realms gaping like a caught fish. Disgust curdled in Loki’s stomach as he scoffed at the old fool.

“Surprised to see me, _Father_?” He asked, the last word dripping with scorn. He adopted a nonchalant demeanour, feigning interest in the king’s belongings and gently tracing his fingers across scattered books and items whilst his attention remained fixed on Odin. “I do so loath to disappoint you, but it seems I was unable to fulfil my _birth right._ ”

His sea green eyes sharply turned towards the All-Father, bearing all the cold rage he could muster. This man deserved all that was coming to him. He had failed as a father, and he was failing as a king. Let the old fool try to talk him down, to save himself. Loki was stronger than him now, both in body and mind.

But to the Trickster’s everlasting confusion, Odin didn’t respond in words. Rather, he dropped the knife and began to stride purposely towards him. Shocked, Loki tried to step backward in retreat, but was halted by a wall at his back.

Before he could summon his thoughts, Odin had wrapped his arms around Loki’s shoulders, pressing his face against his cheek. Loki froze, plans dissolving and murderous intentions bleeding away. He had no idea how to react. In all the possible outcomes of the encounter, this was one that Loki had failed to even contemplate.

Precious moments passed before he managed to summon the sense to push Odin away, storming past him with a snarl on his lips and rage boiling through his shock. How dare he? After all he had put him through!

“Don’t touch me!” Loki growled, dropping his calm façade. His face twisted through the rage that threatened to overcome him.

“My son…” Odin choked. Tears had begun to gather in the man’s watery eye, but Loki was the God of Lies. He couldn’t be fooled by false sentiment.

“I’M NOT YOUR SON!” Loki screamed, a cruel looking short sword materializing in his hand. “I never was!” he continued, allowing his Aesir glamour to drop, and pressing the slight curve of the sword against Odin’s chest. Tendrils of sapphire spread from his fingers and hairline, as the deep crimson bled into his eyes. Pulling himself to his full height, and Loki towered over Asgard’s king, despite his small Jotun stature. Odin turned his face away, doubtless to avoid such a repulsive sight.

“At least look me in the eye as you lie to me, Odin. Look me in the eye before you try to spew this vile fantasy. We both know you only have one son.” Loki spat the words at the old man. Odin refused to move however, staring away from Loki’s rage.

“LOOK AT ME” Loki bellowed. Lunging forwards he wrapped a cerulean hand around the All-Father’s throat, and pressed on the sword with enough pressure to draw blood. Loki slammed Odin into the wall and forcefully turned the old man’s face toward him.

He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.

The tears that previously glistened in Odin’s solitary, blood shot eye had now overflown, leaving pale streaks on the old man’s face, testament to his pain. His breaths came in deep gasps as he focused his gaze on his enraged child.

“You are my son, Loki, whether you believe that or not.”  With this the All-Father batted his son’s sword away and advanced on him as Loki’s expression shifted from anger to consternation. “You were my son the moment I dragged you from the frozen wastes. You were my son when I handed you to Frigga and saw the adoration in her eyes. You were my son when we raised you, when we sang to you and read you children’s tales. We watched you grow into manhood; watched you fall in love with mischief. How dare you disgrace you mother’s memory by claiming otherwise? You are my son, despite the wrongs you have done, and no petty quarrel between us can change that!”

“Stop” Loki pleaded, once more retreating from the man. His voice was choked, and sobs threatened to make themselves known. How had this happened? _Sentiment_.

Odin ignored his plea, unwavering in his pursuit. “Get back!” Loki cried, feigning the strength that had fled him.

Odin placed his hand on Loki’s cheek, watching intently as the blue colouration retreated, leaving behind ivory skin and sea blue eyes in their stead.

“No, Loki.”

With that Odin brought his arms once more around his shoulders, as Loki bowed his head to press against his father’s chest. Silence fell in the room once more, broken only by the minute sounds of sorrow as the two men allowed the loss of the past days, and the stress of recent circumstance to overwhelm them.

~~~~~~~~

“Why did you come here, Loki?” Odin asked softly. Hours had passed since the men had parted their unexpected embrace, and become lost in their own thoughts. The iridescent moon had long since risen outside, the sun fleeing with its warm light.

The convergence of realms had come and passed unnoticed in these rooms; though now he paid attention Loki could feel his pool of magic beginning to ebb once more. The fact that the realms were still standing was testament enough to Thor’s success against Malekith.

“Why did you come back? You could have gone anywhere. The realms think you dead. No one is looking for you.”

“Precisely why I returned, All-Father.” Loki responded softly, waiting for the inevitable realistion. Odin’s brow furrowed in confusion momentarily, before understanding blossomed on his features.

“You came here to kill me, didn’t you? With everyone believing you dead, you could assume my form and the realms would be none the wiser.”

Loki turned his back towards the man as he nodded, slowly.

“But why?” Odin asked. He didn’t sound angry, or anxious. If anything he merely sounded sad. Turning back, Loki saw the old man once again; the one who’s shoulders sagged beneath the burden of his pain.

Loki considered telling him. He considered spilling all he knew of the oncoming threat; the legions at Thanos’ disposal, and the fact that time was the only obstacle between the Mad Titan and his conquest of the realms. He contemplated divulging the reasoning behind his disgrace on Midgard. But then, who would believe truths from the mouth of the Liesmith?

“I want my throne.” he spat instead, the words sounding insincere even to his own ears.

“Don’t lie to me.” Odin’s retort was growled through clenched teeth, his frustration at such falsehoods clearly apparent.

“Of course it must be a lie. You believe all my words to be lies.” Loki’s response was bitter.

“Only when they are! Don’t change the subject!” By this point Odin was stood before Loki, glaring challengingly into his eyes. The Trickster god summoned his anger, expecting further confrontation.

But before any words passed his lips the All-Father sighed and dropped his gaze. “Just tell me, son. Make your intentions plain.”

“I need you out of the way.” Loki stated, being deliberately vague. “The Nine Realms need proper guardianship and you are no longer fit. I’ve watched as your judgements have slipped towards madness. Planning to hand the throne to Thor, the petulant child? Foolish. Then banishing him to Midgard without warning or due process? Again, the actions of a careless ruler. But to ignore the oncoming convergence, and the threat of the Aether? How could you bee so arrogant? Even I have felt the magic stirring in my blood these past days!”

Odin frowned at this, but Loki found he didn’t care. “How could you be so careless? So reckless with so many lives! If you had only acted, Asgard wouldn’t have befallen such destruction. If you had only acted, Mother would still be alive!”

Throughout his argument, Loki had become steadily more furious. By the final statement he’d advanced on Odin once more, griping the hilt of his sword as tears glistened in his eyes.

But the challenge he anticipated never came.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Odin sighed, all argument fleeing his thoughts. “Perhaps Frigga’s blood is on my hands. What I wouldn’t give to bring her back.”

Loki halted his advance, loosening the hold on his weapon.

“Could I suggest an alternative method? One that doesn’t end with patricide.” The corner of Odin’s mouth turned up with this question; a shrewd smile in the face of farcical circumstance.

“Go on” Loki allowed.

“We make a blood pact, you and I,” Odin began. “I pledge to enter the Odinsleep until I am once more ready to rule my kingdom. In return you promise to hold my place on the throne of Asgard, and defend it as I would.”

This suggestion gave Loki pause. Blood pacts were no trifling matter. The breaking of one brought great dishonour upon a person; not to mention near unendurable agony. It was not uncommon for the breaker of such an oath to perish for his failure.

However, such an opportunity bore great potential. To be legally given the throne, with no obligation to remain there indefinitely. He would still have to wear Odin’s guise of course, for no kingdom would bow before the God of Mischief. And the only alternative would be murder; an act of which Loki was so very tired.

Following his contemplation, Loki returned his attention to the All-Father. The man was staring at him with something suspiciously like pride on his face. After all these years, it was the threat on his life that earned Loki his father’s respect? How the Norns liked to play with him.

“You would trust me with this? Has madness taken you in your grief?”

“My grief is the same as yours, so ask that question of yourself before you try to use it against me. I trust you to do the right thing, Loki. You have always had impeccable judgement when it comes to all things but yourself.”

_You are always so perceptive, about everyone but yourself._

Hearing his mother’s thoughts echoed through Odin served to calm his resolve. No one needed to die today.

“Very well, Odin. I accept.”

Odin took the knife from his desk as Loki summoned his own through magic. The men dragged their blades across their palms, and then grasped each other’s lacerated hands, allowing their blood to intertwine.

“I, Odin All-Father, pledge to remain in the Odinsleep until ready to reclaim the throne, unless my presence is called for, either by you, or extreme circumstance.” His eye remained fixed on Loki’s whilst he made his pledge, appearing clearer and more determined than Loki had seen in decades.

“And I, Loki… Odinson,” He began, causing his father to raise an eyebrow, and grace the god with a rare smile. “I pledge to rule the nine realms, in your stead, to the best of my abilities, until the time comes for you to reclaim it.”

The green glimmer of Loki’s magic entwined with the gold of Odin’s, and the blood pact was set. Without a further word, Odin turned and headed in the direction of his chambers, leaving his son standing alone.

At long last, Loki was the rightful king of Asgard.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I do not own Marvel or any of their stuff and things.
> 
> If I did I would never get anything done ;)


	4. Heartfelt Reunions, Or Not

Chapter 3

At his first given opportunity, Loki had taken it upon himself to travel to the rebuilt Bifrost and converse with Asgard’s Gatekeeper. Charging down the bridge astride Odin’s mighty steed Sleipnir, was wondrously exhilarating, and Loki allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of the blood pumping through his veins and the wind coursing through his too long hair. He’d dropped his glamour upon leaving the city’ partially to better enjoy the feeling of freedom, but mostly to avoid antagonising Heimdall. The Gatekeeper would doubtless see through such and illusion, and the man was not someone to be trifled with.

Halfway there, the heightened feeling began to dull, and an ominous anxiety bubbled in its place. The clash of Sleipnir’s hooves against the bridge was the only sound that could be heard this far away from the city. How could Heimdall stand it, this constant silence? It had occupied far too much of his life of late, and the Chaos god found he was ill suited to it.

The monumental observatory at the end of the Bifrost Bridge loomed ever closer drawing a feeling in Loki’s gut that was oddly reminiscent of his fear of the oncoming Titan. He was well aware that he and the Gatekeeper hadn’t parted under the best of circumstances, and whilst he was fairly sure that Heimdall wouldn’t harm his lawful king, he couldn’t deny that the man made him more than a little bit wary.

Upon reaching the edge of the bridge, Loki dismounted, and cautiously entered the newly rebuilt structure.

 “At this rate Loki, when you truly die no one is going to believe it.” The Gatekeeper’s voice reverberated round the spherical building as he stepped into view.

“I take it that you know why I’m here?” Loki asked somewhat nervously, ignoring the Heimdall’s snub.

“I believe so,” the imposing man responded, looming over the Trickster. “You’re here to command me to obey you. As my King.”

Loki swallowed nervously under the Gatekeeper’s scrutiny, and raised his chin to look him in the eye.

“For once you’re wrong, good Heimdall. Rather, I came to apologize for my behaviour when last we met. I was not in my right mind, I’m sure you noticed.” The man snorted at this with obvious derision, whilst Loki continued. “You cannot deny however, that I acted in what I felt at the time was the best interests for Asgard. This realm is my home, regardless of my lineage, and I mean it no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact….”

“Tell me Loki,” Heimdall cut in, interrupting a brilliantly rehearsed speech, much to Loki’s disappointment. He’d spent the whole night planning it. People would have told their children about that speech. There might have been tears.

“How did you make your illusion corporeal on Svartalfheim? Never before have you accomplished such a task.”

The abrupt change in subject left Loki’s head reeling. “Why, the convergence of course! Surely you felt the strengthening of your own peculiar talents?”

“I felt no such thing. I saw the realms aligning as I see all other things, not through any change in my power. In fact, you are the only sorcerer I have noticed a change in. Now why would that be, Loki?”

Words had escaped him. How could this be? Why was he the only one affected? The magic in his veins had been singing for days; his powers had never been stronger. If the convergence wasn’t the cause then what? Oh… of course.

Jotunheim.

His confusion churned into sickening realisation. The convergence of the realms had brought both Asgard and Svartalfheim closer to his birth realm, and his magic had responded to it. This shed new light on the jittery anticipation he’d felt on his recent trips to that cold and broken world. Perhaps merely standing in the presence of monsters wasn’t to blame.

“It was the proximity to the realm of my birth” Loki responded to the Gatekeepers question with a somewhat vacant expression, feeling like a carpet had been pulled out from under his feet.

“But I thought this realm was your home?” The golden eyed man sneered, voice thick with mock confusion. “Perhaps my _king_ is lying?”

“Odin’s beard! Why do you twist my words?”

“It’s annoying, isn’t it?” Heimdall responded. His amusement was becoming evident. Loki growled and turned back to his horse.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Loki sighed to himself as he remounted Sleipnir.

“You’re right, Loki. You really think me such a fool, to be swayed by your pretty words?”

“Ah, I see.” The trickster stated, dryly. “Because the Liesmith can never speak a truth?”

“Perhaps you should let your actions speak in their stead,” came the Gatekeeper’s response, called over his shoulder as he returned to his post. “Good luck, Loki.”

Loki took that for the dismissal it was, and began the return journey across the Bifrost.

~~~~~~~~

Thor’s decision to remain on Midgard was an unforeseen bonus for Loki, for who else could have seen through the Trickster’s act? Not that he need have worried. Throughout their conversation, Thor had been entirely oblivious of Loki’s ploy, to the extent where Loki had to force himself to subdue his chuckles at the buffoon’s ignorance.

Oh Thor. When will you ever learn?

So despite the disconcerting confrontation with Heimdall, Loki’s day was off to a fairly good start. The constant stream of magic he had to put into upholding his glamour was uncomfortable, but certainly not difficult. Besides, it was utterly worth it for the view from the throne. It was curious how this was the first thing Odin rebuilt after the Dark Elves’ rampage, but Loki certainly wasn’t going to complain.

In stark contrast to his first attempt at ruling Asgard, this time round his subjects were going above and beyond to show him all due respect and deference. Guards stood proud in his presence, and gone were the subtle looks of fear and distress in the servant’s eyes, which was something of a relief. Whilst Loki had always revelled in mischief and turmoil, he was not an evil man. His subjects’ fear didn’t sit well with him.

Unlike Thanos.

Fear blossomed in his chest, his mind running rampant at the shift in his thoughts. _Could he do this? Is there time? Will it hurt? Will people listen?_ Violently, he shook the thoughts away. The only way he would be free from such fears would be to focus on the tasks ahead.

Right now, that involved reuniting with the Warriors Three and Lady Sif, of course they were under the impression that they were meeting with their wizened, old King.

They knelt before the throne, pressing their hands against their hearts in a gesture of respect far more sincere than any Loki could ever hope to receive for himself.

“All-Father,” Sif began, her eyes looking at him with something akin to admiration. Loki held back a laugh; last time those eyes had fixed his gaze they’d accompanied a death threat. “You sent for us?”

“I did.” Loki responded, adopting the haughty tone of his father. “I have need of you.”

“We are at your service, my Liege” Volstagg the Bloated replied for the company, His ruddy cheeks turning up in a foolish grin. “What would you have us do?”

“I need each of you to gather a small contingency of guards, and set forth to the realms I have chosen for you. We are to negotiate new peace treaties throughout the realms, and form stronger ties with our neighbours. A new threat has come to my attention, and the Nine Realms will need unity if we are to overcome it.”

A collective gasp ran through the small gathering. Their expressions turned to shock and confusion.

“What is this threat, my King?” Sif demanded. “Surely it is no match for the might of Asgard?”

“Where is Thor? Surely he should be here” Came Hogun’s query.

Questions in the same vein came spewing forward from the four for several minutes before Loki had had enough.

“Silence!” he shouted, gleeful as the group held their tongues and bowed their heads once more.

“Thor has given up his right to the throne. He is no longer Crown Prince of Asgard.” Shocked silence followed this statement. “Fandral and Volstagg, you will take your leave to Midgard and treat with the mortals. Hogun and Sif, you shall journey to Jotunheim. Remember, we are looking to build bonds here, not break them. Do your best not to antagonize anyone.”

Sif’s look of disgust at having to journey the frozen world almost set Loki off in hysterics. It was oddly reminiscent of that time in his youth when he’d managed to get his spear stuck up a bilgesnipe’s nose.

“We’re done here, the scribes have set up all the documents you need. Farewell.” Loki dismissed the warriors, watching them swallow down their questions as they exited the hall.

This whole King thing was going to be rather fun.

~~~~~

Upon returning to the royal chambers, Loki allowed his glamour to drop again with a small sigh of relief. The remains of his day had been spent dealing with the matters of rebuilding after the Dark Elf attack, and he was more than ready to retire.

But before he managed to relax completely, he noticed a small note on a table near the door, clearly left where he was to find it.

Slightly bewildered, Loki opened it.

_Shut your legs when you sit on the throne, Loki._

_The people don’t know whether to bow or proposition you._

_-H_

The trickster should have been offended, but rather he allowed the laughter that had been held at bay all day break through until he was red in the face, guffawing at the idea of being likened to a prostitute by the great Gatekeeper of Asgard.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that one was a pain in the arse to write, but there you have it.
> 
> We should see the Avengers in the next chapter. Huzzah!


	5. Negotiations - The Non-Aggressive Kind

 

Chapter 5

Time passed quickly for Loki in the months that followed. Messages passed back and forth between the realms, but little progress seemed to be made. Every day that came and went with no new developments was like a needle in Loki’s throat, and it was getting harder to breath. He had a chance to prepare the realms for their oncoming destruction, but the realms couldn’t seem to care less.

Not that he could blame them. None of them had any knowledge of Thanos and his armies, and Loki couldn’t warn them outright. He couldn’t drop his guise as the All-Father, or none would again trust his judgement. After all, who would follow the God of Lies? But whilst maintaining his farce, Loki had no justifiable explanation of where his information came from. He’d had to settle with an illusion of returning peace to the Nine Realms, whilst subtly planting suggestions to build up armies and defences. An offhand remark on the condition of the palace walls in Alfheim. A sly reminder of Vanaheim’s need for Asgard’s aid in the recent skirmishes. A stealthy encouragement of competition among the dwarves of Nidavellir in the art of arms forging.  It was an agonizingly frustrating process, trying to find the balance between subtlety and progress.

But he had time; of that he was certain. Thanos’ horde was decades away, at least. Loki hoped for centuries. It had taken the Trickster himself, as well as the incomprehensible might of the Tesseract to bring even a small contingency of the Titan’s army to Midgard, and now he had neither of those things.

Still, Loki couldn’t help but feel like the walls were closing in. Memories of his time in the Titan’s grasp still managed to grip him in the night, forcing him mercilessly from the comforts of sleep. One wrong word from an ambassador, or a glimpse of a being whose features even vaguely resembled his former tormentor, could trigger this crushing feeling in his chest, as though the fiend already had Loki in his grasp. Anxiety would cloud his thoughts, and his chest would heave as though to draw in as many breaths it could before the Titan arrived. More than once, Loki had been brought out of such fits only by some confused bystander meekly calling the All-Father’s attention back to the room. On such occasions, Loki had had o either recover his wits, and continue in his previous engagements, or plea fatigue and call an early end to the matter at hand.

In the past days, Loki had found himself travelling to Odin’s chambers more and more frequently. Here he could drop his glamour and truly be himself. Often he would rant and rave to his sleeping father of the idiocy of those he dealt with, or simply vent his frustration at the slow pace of his progress.

Other times he would merely sit by the All-Father’s side, as he had with his mother, so long ago, and spend hours staring at nothing and losing himself in thoughts of the past. When he came to his senses after such occurrences, he would often stir up a bureaucratic storm in a frenzy to get things moving to make up for lost time. Either that or he’d conjure up his strongest mead, and attempt to lose himself to oblivion.

He finally understood why Odin had looked so tired.

~~~~~~~

Needless to say, when Fandral and Volstagg returned from Midgard for the umpteenth time, Loki wasn’t expecting much development. He’d been trying to negotiate the exchange of weapons technologies between the two realms, but of course that obnoxious SHIELD organization was halting progress at every turn. Apparently they ‘didn’t want to give away anything that could be used against them’ according to Fandral. As if Gods needed mortal weaponry in order to bring them to their knees. Their _mighty defenders_ had beaten Loki back, but against the unrestrained force of Asgard they would fall as a lamb before a bilgesnipe.

Still, the weapons such as that the Man of Iron used against the Chitauri warship would be immensely useful in the coming storm. Aesir, through their tedious dedication to ‘honour’, relied almost entirely upon face to face combat, and though they were certainly not defenceless against long range opponents it never hurt to have a contingency plan.

So when the two warriors returned this time with a small group of mortals alongside them, Loki was pleasantly surprised.

From his vantage point on the throne, Loki watched as the gold clad guards pulled back the great doors of the hall to allow the entrance of the band of mortals. Loki recognised all of them, which was useful in that he could predict their reactions to a small extent, but also potentially problematic. He would have to take extra care not to raise their suspicions as to his true identity, for they wouldn’t react kindly to finding that their former enemy was not only alive, having escaped punishment for his trespass against their realm, but was also the man who had been overseeing negotiations with them for the past months.

Among their company, he noted the presence of the Man of Iron, who would certainly be useful in the acquisition of weaponry, as well as the Black Widow. He’d have to take care around her, for if any could see through his glamour, it would be this spider. To his shock, Loki also recognised the man he’d stabbed outside his cell; he had to restrain his eyebrows from rising at the sight of this unnamed agent he’d presumed to have murdered. The final members of the small band were the soldier from out of time, and the Trickster’s former pet archer. The shy man whose inner beast had beaten Loki to the floor was nowhere to be seen, a fact of which the Trickster was entirely grateful.

It was somewhat jarring to see the band of warriors out of their battle gear. The clothing they wore, he recognised as being Midgardian formal dress, though he took note of how the cut of their clothing didn’t lack for manoeuvrability.  He was more than certain that at least the Spider and the Archer wouldn’t have come unprepared, and he would have felt comfortable betting that they each held at least half a dozen concealed weapons. By the way the Stark man’s right hand was habitually rubbing his left forearm, Loki would also wager that he’d not come unarmed.

Were Odin sat in the Trickster’s place, he might have taken deep offense to the nerve of these mortals, but Loki well understood the reluctance to leave one’s self defenceless, and to some extent he admired their daring.

It was certainly an amusing sight, as the mortals came to stand before the throne. Unaware of proper protocol, each of them reacted differently to the presence of Asgard’s King. The assassins and the nameless agent gave short bows, carefully hiding their reluctance, whilst the golden haired soldier glanced nervously at his companions before following suit. The Man of Iron merely stood with a bored expression on his face, a mask which Loki knew well from his own experiences.

“Greetings, Midgardians,” Loki began, the voice of the All-Father feeling ever more comfortable on his tongue, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your audience?”

At this address, the nameless agent stepped forward assuming a place of authority in the group. Loki quickly made note to re-evaluate the man’s role in these matters. “Your majesty,” the agent began, his calm tone of voice and small smile perfectly belaying any notion of uneasiness. “My name is Agent Coulson. I’m here with a group of Earth’s defenders you may know of as The Avengers, in order to continue trade negotiations on behalf of Earth.”

“I’ve been told that an organisation on your realm has been hindering development. What has changed, may I ask?” Loki tried his utmost to reign in his tone of accusation, though he was certain by the slight crease that appeared on the archer’s brow that he hadn’t been entirely successful.

“Please accept our sincerest apologies, your Majesty. It is not our custom on Earth to dive headfirst into such negotiations, and I’m sure you’re aware of our previous ignorance to the existence of other races. For our government to be seen engaging in arms deals with such advanced extra-terrestrial beings so soon after our enlightenment would be detrimental to public opinion. We’ve been steadily boosting public favour towards your realm in order to facilitate negotiations.”

Loki didn’t fail to notice the manner in which this agent managed to compliment Asgard and forge a feasible excuse from feigned detriment of his home world. This unassuming man was proving to be far more interesting than Loki had anticipated, and he was starting to feel glad that he hadn’t managed to murder him. If Odin had been sat on the throne, he would have been ignorant of the Agent’s lies, but Loki however was more than aware that these negotiations were far from a public matter on Midgard. Through the past months he’d journeyed to the realm more than once, and from the shadow’s he’d taken note of how SHEILD was the only organisation currently in contact with the Aesir ambassadors.

As with the concealed weapons, Loki allowed this matter to pass. He would gain nothing by calling the Agent out on his lie, and it would only serve to sully this new progress.

“It is no matter, Agent Coulson. Far be it from me to question your realms’ peculiar manner of politics.” He noticed the blonde soldier attempt to hide a reaction to this. The archer had told Loki of this man, a diehard supporter of ‘democracy’. “I believe you are aware of what Asgard wishes to gain from these negotiations. We’ve heard from the former Prince of Asgard of your impressive feats of technological ingenuity in the recent war. What is of interest to me is what Midgard hopes to gain from our dealings.”

At this, the Man of Iron stepped forwards, his manner still lacking the deference of his companions. “We’re after materials, your Holiness, the likes of which you can’t get on Earth. We’ve seen Thor’s pretty Hammer of the Gods, and Loki’s Glow Stick of Destiny. There’s no way they were made from common metals from back home. No offense, but your magical space Viking swords and stuff’s no good to us.”

Loki had to suppress another chuckle. The nerve of this mortal! “The material of which you speak is called Uru, and extremely difficult to craft with. Only the dwarves have been known to reliably make use of it.”

“I’ll manage” The Man of Iron interrupted, his statement causing the Agent to roll his eyes, the soldier to cringe and the Archer to outright grin.

“Very well, I believe such a deal could be bartered, although I warn you that Uru is an exceedingly rare and valuable commodity. We will not be parting with it lightly.”

The following two hours were filled with tedious but necessary bartering, with little headway being made on either side. As much as Loki wished to allow Midgard to prepare itself, and to gain these weapons of power, it would be irresponsible to allow the Aesir to appear weak negotiators. Damn this infuriating game of politics. By the end of their session neither party was satisfied, and the Midgardians had asked to return home in order to confer with their government. Loki allowed this, partly because he believed the negotiations would go nowhere were he to force the mortals to remain on Asgard, but mostly because he was bone weary of maintaining his farce under the attentive scrutiny of the Black Widow.

This was looking to be another night of alcohol indulgence.

~~~~~~~~~

Before retiring for the evening, Loki made a trip down to the Bifrost. This was another habit he’d formed of late, due to the fact that the Gatekeeper was the only conscious being in Asgard who knew of Loki’s presence. However his frequent visits had done nothing to shed his disquiet in Heimdall’s presence.

“Good evening, Loki.” Heimdall called as the Trickster dismounted, his glamour long since abandoned in the presence of Asgard’s defender.

“How fare the realms, good Heimdall?” Loki inquired. The Gatekeeper had accepted Loki’s intentions as being favourable to Asgard, though he still harboured an ill opinion of him. Despite Loki’s frequent questioning, Heimdall remained insistent that he’d noticed no great massing of strength in the realms, the likes of which Loki feared under Thanos’ command. The Trickster wasn’t sure whether to accept this as a good omen or fear some darker plan from the Mad Titan. He’d heard the Midgardian expression ‘no news is good news’ but he held little faith in such a notion.

“It seems trouble is brewing in Jotunheim. The Lady Sif has taken it upon herself to antagonise the Jotnar, and they’re calling for her blood as we speak. It seems your day is far from over _oh great King._ ’

Loki sighed in exhaustion. What he wouldn’t give for things to go his way, just once. But alas, he should have expected Sif to make trouble. The arrogant cow was always sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

It seemed a trip to Jotunheim was in order. A shiver ran down Loki’s spine at the thought.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, it's exam season at my uni and I had a ton work to do.
> 
> Well, actually there was a ton of work to be done, but it turns out I'm a master procrastinator. Yay :D
> 
> But anyway, I've cheated a little with this chapter. I was intending to do some word building with the negotiations on different realms, but I decided that's not really what this fic is about, and as I've yet to get to the main part I don't really want to slow things down anymore.
> 
> If anyone's interested, I may do a side fic or something. Hell, I might do it anyway for shits and giggles.
> 
> Title's from Star Wars. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter :D


	6. Shocks of Culture And Consequence

 

Chapter 6

A wave of nostalgia passed through Loki as he journeyed through the Bifrost for the first time in several years. Before he had learned of the secret paths, the dark passages through the void, this had been his only means of transport through the realms. Though this journey across the rainbow bridge stood in stark contrast with the others. This time his brother was not at his side.

It had pained Loki greatly to not ask the Avengers how his brother fared. It was his task to maintain an air of diplomacy, and asking after the health of a rogue prince would have been unseemly. Not that he was overly worried, of course; though it would have eased the guilt in Loki’s chest to know that Thor had found peace despite all he had put him through. The Trickster’s farce on Svartalfheim had been necessary, he knew that. But despite all the hurt his brother had inflicted on him: the arrogant displays of authority; the sapping of his parent’s love; casting an inescapable shadow over his life, it still hurt Loki to think that he would never stand beside his lifelong companion again.

So when the false King of Asgard landed on Jotunheim in an inferno of brilliant light, astride the mighty warhorse Sleipnir with a contingent of highly trained warriors at his back, Thor’s absence made the whole endeavour feel incomplete. Empty. Wrong.

He hadn’t known what to expect when he landed at the Bifrost site in the frozen realm, the exact same spot he’d travelled with his brother, those scant few years ago that somehow felt like an age. He’d read the reports of course, telling of destruction on a massive scale, but seeing the aftermath of his foolish escapade in person was another matter entirely.

The bifrost site was no longer situated on a high overlook like their last visit. Rather, it rested in a crater of incomprehensible size. Had he not been the cause of such destruction, he would have never have even considered the thought that one weapon, no matter how powerful, could create such devastation. The dark crags and pillars of ice had been eradicated, leaving a landscape so flat and void of life, that were it on another realm he may have compared it to a desert.

He’d expected at least some wave of pride in his arrival. The triumphant victor returning to his conquered territory. Instead he just felt… sad. Granted he’d not been in his right mind when he’d turned the might of the Bifrost on Jotunheim, but he’d still done so with the intention on wiping out this entire realm.

How had he come to this? Where was the boy of old who’d sewn his mischief through harmless pranks and folly? The man who’d laughed with his friends whilst in his cups, and made his mother smile with jokes and pleasantries. Now he had become some dark harbinger of chaos. He’d committed genocide more than once, and he couldn’t even convince himself anymore that it was for the right reasons.

_Wherever you go there is war, ruin and death._

_Am I cursed?_

~~~~~~~

Two large Jotun warriors awaited the All-Father’s company at the Bifrost site, their calm outwards demeanour hiding any hint of emotion. They stood patiently whilst Loki took in the view of their ruined realm, and after a suitable pause they turned in synchronised movements, and without a word began to march away. Loki couldn’t help but marvel at the discipline that would allow these two giants to turn their backs on the age old enemies of Jotunheim. Their gait and postures as they marched practically screamed of the years of training one would not expect of a race of savages.

Loki and his warriors followed in pace with the Jotnar, though he couldn’t see any sign of habitation for miles. He knew from the scant texts he’d read on Jotunheim that the great city of Utgard was in close proximity to the Bifrost site. Through the snow flurries, the Trickster struggled to make sense of the jagged landscape beyond the crater’s edge, though he deemed it entirely possible for a city to be nestled among the crags, making it impossible to see from this distance.

With each pace of his great warhorse, Loki felt the magics of the realm seeping into his bones, bringing with them the same elated feeling he’d enjoyed during the convergence. How had he not noticed this on his last journey? Perhaps he’d mistaken this restless energy as apprehension or uneasiness due to his brother’s folly.

Regardless, Loki was thankful for this added surge of power. Norns knew he might need it if this situation came to a head. Trust Sif to rile up the Jotnar. Perhaps he should have sent Fandral instead; the man had been far more reasonable towards Loki during the Dark Elf incident, perhaps his favourable attitude would have aided in the relationship with Jotunheim. But alas, ‘nobody’s perfect`, as the mortals say, and Loki was more than a little petty. He’d taken great joy in watching Sif grace the throne room after each journey, looking frozen to the bone and as grumpy and miserable as the little witch she was.

Loki should have seen this coming. It was only a matter of time really. But couldn’t she have waited to piss off the Frost Giants until he’d had a good night’s sleep? This was just inconsiderate.

~~~~~~~

Loki wasn’t sure what he’d expected as he followed the two Jotun warriors. Perhaps for an enormous citadel looming on the edge of the crater, with ominous spires and dark stonework. Perhaps he anticipated a crumbling ruin tucked into a valley, reminiscent of the structure in which he’d held audience with King Laufey. In his wildest dreams or most childlike fancies he might have pictured a fanciful palace of carved ice, intricate in its craftsmanship and beauty.

But not this. Never this.

One large section of the crater had been collapsed, creating a ramp of sorts. Stepping over the edge, the horizon suddenly expanded. But the vast city Loki had anticipated never showed itself. Instead there were tents. Thousands upon thousands of tents spread haphazardly over what appeared to be a frozen lake. From his vantage point, Loki could see the colours of the mismatched hides stretching far into the distance. There was no chance in Hel that this was a military set up; such a gathering of military might would have called for far more organization; a factor clearly missing from this chaotic mass.

As the Aesir followed the Jotun warriors down from the crater’s edge into the camp, Loki’s fears were realised. The forlorn beings crammed in these tents were far from soldiers. Sad, disheartened, crimson eyes peered from round various corners and tent flaps. Old eyes, mournful eyes and children’s eyes. Far too many to be remotely comfortable. Perhaps they were gathered in such proximity for warmth; gods know the damned icy gale on this plateau was enough to freeze even Surtur’s fiery balls off. Though more likely they were simply here because they had nowhere else to go.

But there were no fires burning in this camp. No tell-tale ringing of iron from forges nor heckling from street vendors. Absent was the thick haze of smoke that surrounded every war camp Loki had ever set foot in, and nothing remained to disguise the stench of waste heaps and unwashed bodies. Despite this, he noted ragged children scampering about, no doubt bearing messages or carrying out small tasks like young children are like to do for pennies, whilst wearing worn and threadbare clothing; obviously cheap and long over worn. Paying more mind, Loki also noticed that even all the adults he’d seen wore clothing of some means, ranging from barely held together rags to long thick cloaks for the clearly better off. In fact, it was only the warriors that Loki had met that wore bare chests and loin cloths in the manner that Aesir children were taught that all Jotnar dress.

The ice beneath their feet had long since turned to a dark, thick slush; worn down by the pressure of hundreds of feet over a long stretch of time. Loki wondered whether the Jotnar feared eventually wearing through the ice and falling into the depths below. He knew little of this realm however, and there was no telling how many feet of ice lay beneath him. Perhaps this explained the lack of fire, though surely a realm that thrived in this icy wasteland would have created some means to protect their surroundings from the heat of the flames?

Loki was abruptly drawn from his reverie by a commotion behind him, disturbing the silence that had settled across the camp with the Aesir’s presence. One of his warriors, a burly man by the name of Haukur, was yelling imaginative obscenities at a small Jotun lad, whilst twisting his fist in the boy’s hair. It seemed the lad had caused him offense in some way, but rather than letting the matter pass as any sensible being in enemy territory would do, the fool had taken it upon himself to threaten and intimidate the boy, much to the mounting displeasure of the hulking Jotnar looming in the shadows. Though these giants may not all have been warriors, invoking the wrath of such a large gathering was certainly foolhardy.

Loki brought Sleipnir to a halt and dismounted, taking care as usual to adopt movements more fitting of the wizened old king in favour of his usual grace. He stormed towards Haukur, hands curled into fists through his barely contained rage, and the Aesir company parted before him like so many leaves before a storm, their eyes downcast in shame.

Haukur’s hand was raised to strike the boy before he seemed to take notice of the sudden tension around him. His arm froze and his barrage of insults ceased as the muscles in his shoulders visibly tightened. Loki stood with feigned patience glaring at the back of the man’s head as the idiot worked up the courage to turn and face his king. Painful moments passed before the imbecile turned with obvious unwillingness, his gaze failing to meet Odin’s. Instead he’d fixed his eyes on the All-Father’s gold clad feet. Coward.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Loki growled at the man, watching with satisfaction as he shuddered and dropped the boy, still refusing to look directly at his king. The young Jotun stumbled back a few paces before falling on his behind, arms braced protectively in front of him. He was clearly terrified.

“M-my apologies, your majesty,” the fool stuttered. “This cur spat at me, and I took it as an insult to my honour. I was merely punishing him as I deemed necessary.”

“ _Necessary?”_ Loki spat. What he wouldn’t give to clout this fool like he deserved, but he was once more restrained by propriety. He did have another idea however, and he let a sadistic grin twist his features. “Well it just so happens that I _deem it necessary_ for a man to remain guard here whilst we continue into camp. Do be sure to keep your wits about you.”

Loki called the rest of the Aesir to lead on, whilst thoroughly enjoying the stricken look of fear on Haukur’s face as the looming Jotnar began to surround him. Let the idiot reap what he had sewn; the Trickster had no time for such men among his company.

~~~~~~~~

By the time Loki, his men and their Jotun guides had reached the centre of the camp, the realm’s distant sun had long since set over the horizon. One benefit of the lack of fire on this realm was the unobscured blue of the night sky. Loki had watched in wonder as not one, but two moons rose over the ragged camp, casting the only light the Aesir could hope to see. One of the moons was comparable with that he’d seen on Midgard, though dark green in shade. The other hung behind it and was gargantuan in size, filling the sky and stretching far beyond the horizon. Its surface was composed of rich purple and black swirls, and it was truly a wonder to behold.

As they journeyed further into camp the tents started becoming larger in size, and there was slightly more semblance of organisation. That being said, the makeshift residences were still far from what one would describe as ‘wealthy’. It would seem that these lucky Jotnar were merely those that had set down roots while space was still available, rather than being of a higher office than those surrounding.

Eventually, Loki and the Aesir arrived at an open courtyard, set before a large, round tent constructed with fine black hides and richly coloured cloths that gleamed iridescently in the light of the twin moons. A lone figure stood before this construct, awaiting them. He was dressed as one of the warriors, with his rippling torso bared to the elements, and only a thin strip of cloth to preserve his modesty. However, this was where his resemblance to his kin ended. While most of the Jotnar Loki had come into contact with were mostly unadorned, this man wore thicks band of gold on his shins and forearms, intricately carved with images Loki could not make out at this distance. His natural Jotun markings were complemented with bright coloured tattoos or body paint in geometric patterns on his face, upper chest and shoulders.

However, perhaps the most striking thing about this Jotun was the crown he wore upon his head. It was far from the heavy gilded helmets favoured by the Aesir or the dwarves, yet neither did it resemble the thin and elegant circlets worn by elf lords. Instead, two jagged horns curved back from the Jotun’s brow, attached to a thick plate gold that framed his head. Long, inky black hair reached down to the Jotun’s shoulders. Though Loki realised now that not all Jotnar were as bald, all those he’d seen through camp wore their hair short or close to their scalp.

From the reports Loki had received over the last months he knew this Jotun to be Helblindi, current King of Jotunheim, son of Laufey and Loki’s brother in blood. The king stood with a resolute expression on his face, and the Trickster could not help but notice familiarities in the line of his brow or the hard line of his lips. He tried to tell himself he’d seen them on Laufey, and not in his own reflection.

Their Jotun guides came to a standstill before their king and bowed deeply, before returning to their comrades at the edges of the courtyard. For the first time Loki drew his gaze away from the imposing figure before him and took note of his surroundings. The small contingent of guards he’d brought with him were vastly outnumbered and deep in enemy territory; though Loki knew that no harm could come to them without invoking the full wrath of Asgard.

He spotted the Lady Sif off to his right, held in a kneeling position by two hulking guards with her hands bound behind her back and a muzzle clasped around her face. He couldn’t find it within himself to feel sympathy for her.

King Helblindi took a step towards the Aesir. Though his height was far less than his father, Loki still had to crane his head to look him in the eye. He felt the Aesir behind him tighten their stance and grip their weapons at his advance, but Loki nodded his head slowly in a gesture of respect to the foreign king, maintaining eye contact.

“Greetings, All-Father.” The Jotun king halted his advance several paces before the Trickster, and his face had taken on a peculiar expression that Loki could not place. “Jotunheim welcomes you.”

Loki heard one of his men snort in disgust, and made a mental note to sentence him to a flogging later.

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Loki replied in a polite tone before he let his eyes purposely shift to Lady Sif. He felt Helblindi’s glance follow his, before they each returned their eyes to the other. “I believe we have a matter to discuss.” Loki allowed the annoyance he felt taint his words. He hoped the Jotun king would interpret this as irritation towards his wayward ambassador, rather than towards the Jotnar themselves.

“Indeed we do.” Helblindi responded whilst gesturing an arm towards his tent. “I believe this would be best resolved in private.”

The false All-Father nodded his agreement, and followed the Jotun into his abode. The Aesir guard remained behind, trying and failing not to quake in the presence of the Jotun horde.

~~~~~~~~~~

Loki finally felt warmth envelope him as he stepped into the king’s tent, letting the thick hide door fall closed behind him. The sounds of the camp were muffled, but remained ever present.

The interior of the tent was much more sparsely decorated than one would imagine. It would appear that Helblindi wore most of his wealth on his person in an image of reassurance to his people. In fact, the king’s abode was almost entirely empty; only a small bed and a table breaking up the space. One object of interest however, was a large orb hovering near the roof, emitting a soft blue glow. Loki felt a familiar magic resonating from it, one that he was beginning to recognise as unique to Jotunheim.

Helblindi came to a halt in the centre of his tent, and stood with his back to the false Aesir king. This gave Loki pause, why would someone present such an obvious advantage to his enemy? What was he thinking?

“You can drop the show now, boy.” The Jotun king finally spoke, and Loki felt his blood run cold. The giant turned to face him, anger twisting his features, and paced forward aggressively. He now stood  a mere pace from the Trickster, his painted chest crowding his vision.

“Did you think I would not smell you? Did you think I would not recognise the magic of my own blood? I know not why you wear this face, but I won’t stand for it in my presence.” He never raised his voice, but his tone was thick with scorn.

Very few beings could get away with speaking to Loki in this manner. Thor and Odin used to be among them, though now he couldn’t imagine his brother’s ire raised against him in such a way, and Odin had lost all power over the Chaos God. His mother had been murdered, leaving only the Mad Titan among this few; someone he didn’t care to think about.

So Loki refused to be spoken to like a petulant child by this stranger. He shoved the giant aside, snarling as he stepped further into the room. Turning to face his brother in blood, Loki let his disguise drop. The Trickster God stood tall in his green and gold regalia, facing down the monster of his childhood.

“Better,” Helblindi stated softly, deep crimson eyes turning losing their hard edge, much to Loki’s bewilderment. “Though not quite what I had in mind.” All semblance of anger had disappeared from the Jotun, and Loki shuddered as the giant placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You do not have to hide in here. You are free to be who you truly are.”

“I am Loki,” The Trickster responded. “I am who I have always been, and what lies beneath my skin does not define me.”

“Then why do you fear it?” The giant’s voice was too gentle. Too kind. Loki found he could not bear it. He turned his face away as his breath hitched in his throat. To his shame, he felt a tear leak from his red rimmed eyes. He stood, frozen, as the blue of his heritage spread from Helblindi’s hand.

“Loptr,” The Jotun king sighed, “I remember the day we thought you lost, though I was but a child. I remember how father wept and held me. There was much sorrow that day.”

“Lost? You lie.” Loki growled through his confusion. “I was abandoned; left to die for my size!”

 “Is that what the Great Thief told you? You were loved, Loptr. Had we known you yet lived, Father and I would have moved realms to find you.”

“Stop calling me that! I am Loki! And if you recall, I killed _our father_!”

“You’re right, and I should hate you for it. As I should hate you for the ruin you have wrought upon my realm. But we both know there is little I can do about it whilst you wear the guise of the All-Father. I cannot help but be glad of this fact, for it would pain me to have to bring harm to you.”

“Why?” Loki all but whimpered. “Why can’t you just despise me for what I’ve done?”

“Because it would do neither of us any good.” Helblindi stated, as though those few words would solve all matters between them. “You have a brother, back on Asgard. One you’ve known you’re whole life. Tell me, could you ever truly hate him?”

Loki took a moment to ponder this, whilst trying to regain his composure. In the end though, he could only come to one conclusion.

“Not entirely. I believe I shall always hate and love him in equal measure.”

Helblindi nodded, understandingly. “Very well then. May we return to the matter at hand?”

“Ah yes, our rogue ambassador.” Loki was thankful for the change in direction, though he feared it was purposeful on Helblindi’s behalf in order to ease his pain.

Helblindi huffed a laugh at the description. “I hardly think _rogue_ is an adequate term. She cleaved a man’s arm from his shoulder.” Loki winced. “And as for being an _ambassador_ , the wench has done naught but try to antagonise us from the moment she set foot on this realm. I believe she finds the idea of Jotnar being civilised rather insulting.”

It was Loki’s term to laugh. “That would be my fault, I’m afraid. She’d rather blame my failings on my blood than any fault of Asgard. She’s a fool, yes. But loyal to the bone. I realise too late that I should have sent another in her stead.”

“You know of course that we cannot just let her go. The man she maimed can no longer work, and he has not only himself, but a family to care for. You must have noticed that Jotunheim is damaged and broken. It is not easy for anyone to get by nowadays.”

“I had noticed.” Loki responded, guilt and shame creeping into his tone. “I won’t apologize for Laufey; I did in that situation what I felt was right. But I am deeply sorry for the pain I wrought upon Jotunheim. It was a choice I made through madness, and one that I truly regret.”

Helblindi nodded, but said nothing.

“I propose a trade,” Loki continued. “You allow me to return Lady Sif to Asgard unharmed, where I promise she will be punished for her actions. In return, I can give you the Casket of Winters.”

At this, the Jotun’s eyes widened, hope gleaming in his features.

“It must be used in secret, of course, for the Casket was believed to be lost when I fell from the Bifrost. None can know of its presence for they could draw conclusions as to where it came from.”

A gleaming smile had lit the Jotun’s face, and this time Loki could not deny that he recognised himself in the giant. “Of course! Do you know what this means for Jotunheim? Do you know what this means for me?”

The Trickster pulled the Casket from his hidden place, and held it in his arms one last time. The magic in his veins that had been surging since he set foot on the realm began to truly sing with the Casket’s presence. Standing in this tent with none to hide from, and no shame to be felt, Loki allowed the power to wash over him, glorying in the feeling of elation.

“I think I do.” Loki finally responded as he passed the Casket back to the brother of his blood.

They had little time for formalities, as a commotion was making itself known outside the tent. Loki allowed his illusion to overcome him once more as he and Helblindi sped outside.

The chaos in question was being made by the oafish guard, Haukur, who looked significantly worse for wear after his short time among the Jotnar.

“Your majesty!” The man all but screamed at the false All-Father. Loki was taken aback by the fear shining in the man’s eyes as he knelt before his king. “The Bifrost has opened my Liege! No one has appeared, and it won’t shut down!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry about the wait. This one got away from me :)
> 
> I'm planning on weekly updates now, as they're taking longer to write.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos. It really makes my day :D


	7. Peace, From Desolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, I am a terrible person :)
> 
> This got really dark, really quick. Check the tags and stuffs for warnings

 

Chapter 7

Loki had always lived for chaos. He hadn’t been born with his title after all, and one had to be fairly dedicated to be proclaimed a god of _anything_. The static nature of Asgard had always suited him ill, with their resentment of change and fear of the unusual. Very early on, Loki had learned the power he could wield through his proclivity to mischief.

But chaos born of mischief was one thing. Fear was entirely another. Loki gained entertainment from a person’s idiocy and confusion. The ability to twist people round his little finger, or send crowds sprinting in multiple directions with nothing more than a well-timed illusion or an aptly placed phrase was a cause for much pride in the Trickster. Much of his earlier life had been dedicated to mischief; whether it was spooking guards with illusions of frost giants, swapping round ingredients in the palace kitchens or exacerbating disputes between petty noblemen.  

However to find pleasure in another person’s pain was an entirely different matter. Loki didn’t consider himself a cruel man; he had always felt sadism was unseemly, despite his recent body count that would put a lie to his nature.

Mischief had led Loki to bring the Jotnar to Asgard, that and a desire to delay his unworthy brother from taking the throne. It was his madness that caused the Trickster to attack Jotunheim, and he would never overcome the guilt from that folly.

The chaos on Midgard was born of fear; both that of its inhabitants and of Loki himself. The mortals’ deaths brought Loki no satisfaction, though even he could not pass off the lie that he mourned their passing. Unlike his attack on Jotunheim, the war on Midgard had not been of his own making, and he felt no guilt for his actions. Though a monster Loki may be, he paled in comparison to the devil who had orchestrated that war.

The tempest of chaos that had now engulfed the Jotun camp was born not of mischief but of fear.

~~~~~~~~~

Loki stood beside his blood brother in the eye of the storm. Riotous clouds had curdled the clear sky, obscuring the view of Jotunheim’s twin moons. The pale, coloured light that once lit the camp had been replaced with a blanket of darkness. A deep roar could be heard in the distance; the sound of rock and ice and snow churning together, swelling and crumbling beneath Asgard’s mighty weapon. Jotnar and Aesir warriors alike had fled, leaving the throng of Jotnar civilians to follow in their wake.

Loki wished he could stand stoic and name them cowards, but he himself felt fear curling in his stomach. What could they do, but run? There was no stopping the Bifrost from this side.

The tide of Jotnar flowed past the two kings; elderly giants being dragged by their youngers, whilst children gripped to the skirts of their mothers or the torn rags on their fathers’ shoulders. Unrestrained terror lit the faces of each and every Jotun.

How many had died in the last attack?

How many would fall in this one?

Tents and belongings were trodden unceremoniously underfoot, along with those fool enough to fall down. The screams of the crushed only added to the cacophony of shouts and wails of those fleeing.  Livestock were left to perish whilst their masters scrambled for survival towards the frozen wastes.

Helblindi turned to the Trickster, shouting inaudibly with rage and betrayal burning in his expression. With a firm grip on Loki’s cheek he tore his dumb stricken blood brother’s attention away from the roiling clouds and the terrified throng. Loki’s senses returned to him as his eyes made contact with the Jotun king, and he recognised a look of disgust in his eyes.

And blame.

Wide eyed, the Trickster shook his head frantically, hoping to express in little time his lack of involvement. It seemed to give Helblindi pause, enough for him to release his punishing grip of Loki’s face, but not enough to prevent that clawed hand from digging into Loki’s shoulder and dragging the younger Jotun away.

~~~~~~

The Bifrost didn’t shut down. The two kings’ desire to stay close to the camp, lest the perpetrator make himself know, had long since become impossible. Sleipnir had fled long before Loki had thought to mount him, and thus the blood brothers were left to their own devices out on the frozen lake.

Loki’s attention had remained on the Bifrost throughout their flight, and he’d lost sight of the hightailing civilians. He could only hope that the Jotnar residing in the ramshackle camp had since fled to the outlying mountains and ravines and found some shelter from the Bifrost’s wrath.

But he knew that if the Bifrost remained active much longer all hopes of shelter were in vain.

The two kings stood vigil as the Bifrost’s energy began to pour over the original crater and spilled into the refugee camp. The vortex of dark clouds that had left the realm in darkness was steadily being split by the blinding light of the rainbow bridge. The odd, slightly unreal look that remains in the sky after a flash of lightning had flooded the landscape, making the ominous realm appear truly unnatural.

 Tears had run from Helblindi’s eyes, and Loki couldn’t help but feel shame. Surely this could only have come about due to his failing; due to his own lack of attention or sense.

Who could have done this? Surely not Heimdall, for such an action won him no gains, and the man was far from this cruel. No, someone must have bypassed the Gatekeeper, or disposed of him.

The Trickster felt a stab of fear for this man who’s been the only bearer of his secret in the past months. The only being that Loki had been able to talk to freely and without fear of revealing himself.

Perhaps a coup in court? But no, Loki dismissed this almost instantly. He’d played the part of King like he was born to, and few of his retinue had the means or even the motivation to overthrow Odin. Besides, he’d been away for mere hours before the attack, and due to the unexpected nature of his journey, no revolt could possibly have been planned beforehand.

That left only one option.

There was a saying on Midgard: “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Loki didn’t even have to go as far as speaking. The moment the Titan’s name crept into his thoughts, the Trickster felt cold seep into his bones, in a way that shouldn’t be possible through his heritage.

“Little Godling,” that deep voice thrummed through to his very marrow. “You have been busy.”

The bombardment of the Bifrost ceased suddenly, leaving an absence of sound in its wake.

Loki fell to his knees as his thoughts succumbed to darkness.

~~~~~~~~

Waking was a slow and painful process. Loki’s muscles seemed to have lost all strength, and not only in his limbs. His breathing felt laboured, as though he were wearing heavy armour that had been buckled too tight. His fingers felt leaden and his eyelids were a burden as though he had been awake for days on end.

When he finally opened them, the sight to greet him was no more welcoming than his return to conciseness. Thanos, the Destroyer of Worlds, crouched before him in a farcical gesture of concern. Surrounding him was the devil’s horde of Chitauri; their empty eyed stares piercing in their ferocity.

“Ah, the Godling has awoken” the Titan cooed in his guttural voice, sounding ominously cheerful. His statement was met with a chorus of laughter and jeers.

 Loki could hear the grating screams of tormented Jotnar out of his eyeshot, and he feared for the fate of the fleeing civilians. Helblindi lay at Loki’s side, unconscious but otherwise unhurt. The Trickster allowed a small moment of relief for himself; he little knew his blood brother, but his demise would have left one more shard of ice in Loki’s heart. Besides, he was certain to need an ally in this Hel in which he’d found himself.

Trying to force himself to stand was an impossible task, and to his everlasting shame Loki collapsed to his knees before the Mad Titan.

“It seems the dog has not forgotten his place” Thanos jeered, to a renewed ripple of laughter.

A great hand found its way around Loki’s throat before he could relax, and he felt himself being pulled into the air as he fought for breath. His limbs dangled, heavy and useless around him. His feeble attempt to grab the arm that held him was met with harsh guffaws from the surrounding army.

“What’s the matter, boy? Do you not enjoy this mortal form?”

Thanos’ sneer had triggered unbridled horror in the Trickster. With great effort he raised one hand enough to see his glamour had fallen, and he no longer held the guise of the All-Father. With panicked haste he reached for his deep pool of magic, only to find himself wanting.

“Oh, my little Godling. Do you really think me that stupid? You have no power remaining, and this time your lies and pleas shall fall on deaf ears. You failed me boy, and you were warned of the price of failure.”

_You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain._

~~~~~~~~

They never hurt him. That was the worst part. Apart from the rough scuffles from place to place, Loki was hardly even touched.

He knew that eventually he would beg them for the pain.

When they held him still and made him watch as they flayed Helblindi alive, he stayed silent. When they salted the wounds and sewed his skin back on, he remained mute. Days would pass as his blood brother was forcibly healed, and then the process would start anew. The Jotun king pleaded for them to take his life long before Loki shed a tear.

When they buried him in a dark box deep beneath the snow he held his tongue. By some unknown magic his air never ran out, and despite his unbearable hunger and thirst he couldn’t die. Time was lost to the Trickster along with light sound. His useless limbs quickly began to pain him in his small coffin, and there was no room to stretch or rearrange himself. Still he stubbornly refused to satisfy his captors with pleas for help.

In the darkness and solitude his mind wrestled with the questions that plagued him. How had Thanos reached the realms so quickly? How hadn’t he noticed? How fared Asgard, for surely his home suffered under Thanos’ rule. How fared Odin and Heimdall? Did Helblindi still live, or had they granted his requests for death?

Loki no longer paid any mind to his own future. He had lost due to his own failings. He had fallen, and dragged the realms down with him. In his foolish arrogance he had thought himself cleverer than the Titan, and his folly had doomed billions of lives.

Years or mere weeks could have passed in that living death. Loki had lost all sense of time, and he felt madness creeping into his thoughts. When they dug him out and murdered his blood brother in front of him, Loki finally wept.

Sensing achievement in their grasp, the Chitauri began herding nameless, innocent Jotnar, only to butcher them before the fallen king. When Loki began to beg for them to stop, the Chitauri finally ended their slaughter and retreated in their victory, leaving the Trickster surrounded by corpses.

Glassy eyes stared accusingly at him from all sides. Among the dead he saw his Aesir warriors laid broken alongside Jotnar both young and old. The enemies of the past millennia had fallen alongside each other before the Mad Titan’s horde.

Loki began to wish for death.

~~~~~~~~~

The weakness in Loki’s limbs was becoming more familiar to him now, but when he heard the approaching footsteps, accompanied by muffled grunts and scuffling, it was still a strenuous task to raise his head.

The boots before him he had come to recognise as Thanos’, but the reluctant pair beside him was unknown to the Trickster. Raising his gaze, he saw the struggling figure was wearing Midgardian clothing.

Why bring a mortal here? Had they tired of butchering Loki’s kin?

Finally, Loki managed to glimpse the face of his fellow prisoner. That face which he’d known his entire life.

His friend and companion.

His rival and enemy.

His brother.

Thanos stood with a cruel blade to Thor’s neck, held tightly enough to pierce the skin and cause a thin rivulet of blood to spill. Thor looked haggard and malnourished; clearly he’d been captive for some time. His hands were bound cruelly behind him, and a gag reminiscent of the one he’d forced onto Loki’s face was fastened to the golden prince’s jaw.

The last Loki had seen of his brother he was hale and healthy. How had it come to this?

“No,” Loki choked, disregarding of Thanos’ glee. “Please, don’t. I-I’ll do what you want. Whatever you w-want”

“Oh, little Godling. I think you know what I want.” Thanos sneered as a sadistic grin distorted his face. Thor’s eyes had widened, the brilliant blue glistening with rage. His muffled protests became more frantic.

_He will make you long for something as sweet as pain._

Loki bowed his head before the titan and accepted his failure. He had lost. Thanos had won. Nothing he could do now would change that, but he could still help Thor.

“Please,” He begged. “Take me instead. Torture me, kill me, whatever you wish. But please, let my brother go.” His voice broke as tears streamed down his face.

“At last, boy. The words I wanted to hear”

Thanos’ grin never faltered as he drew the blade across Thor’s throat.

Loki screamed as the torrent of red gushed forth and his brother’s body fell to the ground.

The Trickster broke as his brother died, and everything else ceased to matter.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I did a thing.
> 
> This has been planned from the start, unlike most of what I write. My sincerest apologies *Muffles evil chuckles*
> 
> Also there's a Borderlands reference in there for anyone if they can find it. 
> 
> The title for this chapter is from a quote from Tacitus' Agricola: 'They made a desolation and called it peace' (30-32) referring to the expansion of the Roman Empire. I figured that Thanos' horde and the Roman army have a lot in common. Don't get me wrong, I love the Romans, but you can't deny there are parallels. Does this count as revision? I'm saying it does. Aww yiss.


	8. Silence, And The End Of All Things

 

Chapter 8

A long time passed before Loki’s sense began to return to him. The frozen wall against which he sat was his only anchor to the world around him. The memories of his efforts on behalf on the Nine Realms long since passed into oblivion, alongside his ability to care. He forgot his wrongs as he forgot the wrongs placed upon him. He forgot himself.

But there was one thing he couldn’t forget. The evidence lay before him.

The once brilliant blue of his brother’s eyes had glossed over and faded to grey, yet Loki couldn’t bring himself to avert his gaze. He sat in irrevocable numbness, entirely heedless of his surroundings for longer than he cared to imagine.

Many Chitauri visited him in that time, though their presence hardly scratched the edges of his attention. Surely they came to mock, and lay their scorn upon the fallen prince. Regardless, they were ignored.

They still didn’t lay a hand on him. In his rare moments of sentience, Loki mourned this fact. He wanted be hurt as his brothers had been, if only to pierce his veil of senselessness. He wanted to die, as they had been allowed to die.

Loki was no fool; he knew that no seat waited for him in the great drinking halls of Valhalla. That was reserved for the likes of the Golden Son and his friends. But even the cold wastes of Helheim would be preferable to this unending stillness. At least then he would suffer as he was meant to.

He had failed. Completely. Thanos had beaten him, and everything was lost. The realms would be sacrifice to Thanos’ mistress, and since Asgard had fallen what could they do but burn?

Not that it mattered anymore. Thor was dead, and there was nothing left for Loki to do but watch his body decay.

This was not how it was meant to be. Thor was supposed to get all he wanted. He was supposed to ascend to the throne, marry his mortal woman and raise children. He was meant to be happy and loved, as he had always been.

He was supposed to be there to drag his wayward brother back from whatever mess he had found himself in. Loki had long taken his love for granted, in the arrogant assumption that he could not fall to any depths into which his brother’s hand would not be extended to him.

But Loki was no longer drowning in that darkness. It has consumed him, and the abyss in which he remained was devoid of Thor’s love. Devoid of Thor’s life.

He was alone.

So he sat and watched as the body that had once held his brother steadily turned to ruin, and he waited for death.

~~~~~~~~~~

The detached numbness that Loki had fallen into was broken suddenly when the Chitauri removed his brother’s bloated body. The corpse barely resembled the golden prince any longer, and a dark pool of filth clung to the ground where it had rested, but Loki fought its removal nonetheless.

He shrieked and clawed at the rough, reptilian hands that held him back, refusing to let this churl dishonour his brother’s body. There should be a funeral ship, and he should be sent to Valhalla with his favoured possessions. There should be people to weep, and his woman should be allowed to mourn.

No son of Asgard should be disposed of like waste by these filthy, empty eyed slaves. Thanos’ taint couldn’t be allowed to stain Asgard’s golden son.

But there was nothing Loki could do. His mortal body had withered in his inactivity, and his frail form could barely hold itself let alone fight against those who held him. So he yelled and cried until his raw and cracked throat refused to give life to his pain. He wept until his dry eyes could no longer bring forth tears.

When the body was gone from his sight, Loki slumped in his captor’s arms. He stubbornly refused to grant his acknowledgement as the heavy figure of his former master moved to stand before him.

“Poor little Godling.” The Titan cooed in his repulsive tone, and Loki didn’t need to look up to know that a sadistic grin had planted itself on his face. “Are we feeling sorry for ourselves? You realise this is all your doing, of course. If you had only retrieved the Tesseract, your brother might have lived. If you hadn’t been so weak, if you hadn’t failed so _spectacularly_ , you would have earned a place of honour at my side and you loved ones wold have been spared.”

“I want.. nothing.. from you.” Loki forced the words passed his shrivelled tongue and cracked lips, but he wasn’t entirely sure the fiend had heard him; his once powerful voice was now so weak a mouse could have spoken over him.

But the Mad Titan clearly had good hearing, as a deep, cruel laugh erupted from his chest. “Oh, poor boy. But I have such a marvellous gift for you! As your complete _incompetence_ has allowed me, not only the Tesseract, but the entire wealth of Asgard, I’ve decided to be charitable. You were promised a realm were you not, little Godling? Well a realm you shall have!”

The surrounding Chitauri began to snigger and grin, their eyes still entirely devoid of emotion. They laughed when their master laughed, they growled when he felt rage, but they were empty. Soulless. Wrong.

And they were the last beings Loki saw on Jotunheim, before the Titan’s dark, twisted magic enveloped him and his world once more reverted to darkness.

~~~~~~~~~

The first thing Loki became aware of was silence. Not the peaceful kind like the one found in the depths of a library, or even the comfortable kind that can be found between two people who know each other better than they know themselves.

This was unnatural kind. It was the sound of a confrontation witnessed through too thick glass. The sound something precious and fragile makes when it is dropped, and it’s falling to its inevitable destruction. It was the silence of absence.

Upon trying to open his eyes, Loki found a blinding pain split through his skull. Too long spent underground and in darkness had severely weakened him, or perhaps it was merely this damned mortal form being unable to handle even something as mundane as sunlight.

Despite the pain, he forced his eyelids open, and struggled to focus on his surroundings. He felt grass under his palms as he attempted to lift his body upright, so he could be sure he no longer resided on Jotunheim. This also ruled out Muspelheim, Svartalfheim and the Realm of the Dead, though Loki could not feel thankful for the last one.

When the darkness finally receded from the edges of his vision, Loki became aware of a small, brick house before him, and from what he could see over the fence surrounding him, there seemed to be an identical structure pressed close on either side. Midgard then, for no other realm built such drab, inelegant structures as these.

The stark silence continued to unnerve him. Where were the people? The last time he’d come to this realm the vermin had been scurrying in every direction, ignorant of the rest of the cosmos.

Now everything was too still. Even the small trees nearby seemed reluctant to sway in the pitiful breeze. The plot of grass around him, which he could only assume was a feeble excuse for a garden due to the lack of crops, was wildly overgrown. Long tendrils of grass were creeping up the side of the structure, and had begun to engulf the scattering of objects that, by their bright and garish colours, he could only take for either children’s toys or possessions of the mortals’ beloved Captain America.

A painful clenching of his stomach brought Loki’s attention away from his surroundings and back to his current plight. Norns know what vile magic had sustained him in Thanos’ grasp. Some kind of stasis perhaps? Regardless, his body was now demanding sustenance.

Forcing himself to his shaking legs, Loki began to shamble towards the building. Surely these mortals had the sense to keep provisions in their abodes? His limbs screamed with disuse, and the cramps in his stomach were causing painful spasms, but he moved on.

He had been denied the right to die alongside his brother. That didn’t mean he need starve like a rabid dog in a human hovel. Thanos had missed his chance, and Loki would no longer accept a death that devil had forced upon him. Until an appropriate solution came to him, the fallen god would struggle on through this broken world.

~~~~~~~~~

The flimsy door to the mortal abode didn’t hold Loki back for long, it seemed its residents had neglected to use their lock. He half expected to find some of the ragged beings cowering in their home, but it appeared abandoned.

Luckily, the room he had entered appeared to be some form of primitive kitchen. At least he wouldn’t have to search the rest of this cramped little hovel. He began frantically searching shelves and cupboard for anything remotely edible.

He recognised a large, white storage device in the corner. When under his thrall, Barton had pointed this out as a means of food preservation; though he had long since forgotten the strange word he had named it.  It seemed however, the mortals’ methods of food preservation were as crude as the rest of their realm, for when he opened the white box the stench of decay made him gag.

Everything in this damned realm seemed to be contained in the same material, a thin, shiny, crinkly substance. It was maddening, having to tear into package after package only to find the contents unrecognisable. After nearly breaking his teeth on a substance labelled ‘fusilli’, Loki tried to take more care.

The pains in his stomach were only worsening, so he resorted to try and break into the strange metal containers he found in one cupboard. One had an image of a strange fruit on the outside, but try as he might Loki couldn’t get it open! Throwing the blasted thing against the wall had only served to dent the container. Damn these mortals and their infuriating food!

His rage was finally alleviated when he found a short, square shaped can marked ‘SPAM’ with a ring on top, and a helpful little arrow. His relief was short lived however, when all he found inside was a bizarre, overly salty, pink meat.

He would have to make do. He had grabbed three containers of this _spam_ , along with a strange, clear vessel of water, when he heard a movement behind him.

Loki froze, his pilphered supplies forgotten as he instinctively tried to make himself smaller. He carefully turned, body tense and eyes wide, to see the figure shambling in the next room.

The stench of death, one Loki was oh so familiar with, clung to this figure. It, for the thing could only be described as ‘it’, wore the torn and mangy remains of clothing that did little to hide the rot and decay overcoming its body.

Slowly backing towards the door with his ill-gotten gains, Loki felt his heart race and a cold sweat break out over his mortal form.

He’d seen beings like this before in Nifleheim, and it was not an experience he wished to repeat.

By some stroke of ill luck, whilst powerless, broken and starving, he had run into a draugur.

Oh, how the Norns hated him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wants to know, Loki's found himself in Watford, just on the outskirts of London. There is a reason for that, which will be explained later, but it also allows me to be a bit more authentic. I would be totally screwed if I set this in America :P
> 
> Chapter title is from Doctor Who. Aww yiss.
> 
> If it takes your fancy, you can follow me on tumblr: mockerymademusic.tumblr.com/
> 
> 'Til the next time :D


	9. Death, And All That Precedes It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a couple of days late. It was disagreeing with me.
> 
> Enjoy :)

 

Chapter 9

Loki endeavoured to keep his footsteps silent as he slowly backed towards the door. It seemed that the draugur in the next room had not yet seen him. The grotesque being was shambling steadily in his direction however, most likely drawn by the sound of Loki’s search for sustenance.

If the creature so much as turned its head, Loki would be spotted. If he allowed it much closer, then the scent of his own body would give him away. Lurking in the shadows was not an option. Loki had to move.

Cradling his supplies in his arms, he slowly edged backwards towards where he knew the door to be. Had he his magic, Loki could have used it to feel out the way behind him, without having to turn his head. As it was, the Trickster had to step blindly and silently backwards, in the vain hope that perhaps luck had failed him so often in the recent past that he was finally in line for a miracle.

He had nearly made it to the door, when the damned draugur turned its head in Loki’s direction. Clouded, blank eyes made contact with green ones, now widened with fear. A moment’s stillness enraptured the beast, as it registered Loki’s presence.

Then all at once, the draugur’s limb’s seemed to lurch forwards. It was all Loki could do to stumble backwards out of its reach. He cried out, heedless of his parched throat, and dropped his supplies in his rush to retreat.

The draugur continued towards Loki, its jaws clacking violently, and rotting arms reached out in a hunger fuelled rage. The growls coming from the thing were unearthly, like a death shriek merged with a ravenous growl.

Loki’s frail and uncoordinated form brought him to ruin, as he tripped and fell onto his back in the dirt. The draugur didn’t follow him down, as much as throw itself at him. Only by locking his arms straight against the decaying chest was Loki able to prevent the beast from tearing his throat out then and there.

All sense fled from the fallen god, as he desperately struggled to force the creature away. His vision was filled only with the dead eyes and rotting flesh of the draugur above him. Its heavy weight was pressing dangerously against his palms, and his shoulders were straining under the pressure of keeping his arms straight. He could feel the blunt nails of the creature clawing against his face and chest, but his only though was of keeping those gnashing teeth away from him.

He couldn’t hear his terrified pleas for help over the sound of the draugur and the blood pumping in his ears; the heart that had desperately wanted to stop so recently, now fought for life as his survival instincts took centre stage.

The pain in his shoulders was becoming unbearable, and he was becoming blinded by the rivulets of blood that the draugur had drawn from his face. He attempted to kick the body away from him, but even had he the leverage for such a defence his legs were far too weak to achieve it.

He was going to die here. Thanos was going to win, and he was going to be rent to pieces on his back in the mud by degrading corpse.

The cold caverns of Helheim loomed. He would never meet his brother in the golden drinking hall of heroes. He was unworthy.

His arms gave in and the draugur lurched towards him, teeth bared to close around his throat.

Then without warning it was gone; thrown aside by some unknown force whilst Loki reeled in the shock of his continued existence. Without the body filling his vision, Loki’s eyes had to recover from the onslaught of the sunlight, but he could hear the dull thumps of metal repeatedly hitting flesh.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Loki wiped the blood from his eyes, hissing as the cuts stung in contact with the rough material of his tattered clothing. The didn't feel too deep; the bleeding had already begun to slow. When his vision focused and his senses returned to him, he was greeted by the sight of the broken draugur. Little remained of the creature’s skull; just some shattered bone over spilling with gore. Its body had finally been embraced by the death it had evaded.

Over it stood a figure holding a metal bar, their shoulders straining with deep breaths of exertion. From his pitiful position on the floor, Loki could only see their back. He noted the ragged state of their clothing, and the thick, unkempt locks of muddy brown hair.

Eventually, the figure turned to look down at him. His saviour was a woman, tall and gaunt with a thick, partially healed scar down the side of her face. The long coat she wore worked well to hide the state she was in, but Loki could still tell she was undernourished.

Despite this, the hand she reached out to help him with certainly didn't lack for strength. He can’t have weighed more than a child at this point, but he judged by her bearing that she could have pulled him from the ground had he weighed the same as his brother.

His late brother.

He took a moment to compose himself, and then turned to offer her thanks when he was brought short by a look in her eyes.

Scorn. Pure and undiluted. No one had dared look at him like that before, for fear of creative retribution. Yet here this mortal woman was, staring at him as though he were some horse leavings that she’d just stepped in.

And could he blame her? Were he to find such a helpless wretch, completely unable to save their own lives due to their own weakness, would he not look down on them in the same manner?

Under her judgemental gaze, he looked at himself for the first time since he’d been captured on Jotunheim. His conjured armour had been removed alongside his magic, and all that remained of his tunic and trousers were frayed and dull rags. All the muscle mass in his limbs had gone, and though Loki had always been slim, the sight of his withered arms was sickening.

For the first time he wondered how long he’d been captive. His hair had grown no longer since his imprisonment on Asgard, but this was only further evidence for Thanos putting his body in some form of stasis.

How much time had he lost, watching Helblindi and the other Jotnar tormented before him? How long had he sat and watched his brother decay? What had happened to the realms in his absence?

These thoughts flashed through the turmoil of his mind as he stared back into the disgusted eyes of the woman before him. Then, without a word, she turned from him and strode towards the house.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Cautiously, Loki followed the woman into the house. She raised her eyebrow at the measly collection of supplies he had gathered in his arms.

“Spam, huh?” She asked gruffly. “Better you than me. There’s plenty of real food in here you know. More than I’ve seen in weeks.”

She started stashing a selection of the metal containers into her pack, along with several items in those peculiar, crinkly packages.

“I don’t-- I couldn’t--- Get in to them” He replied meekly, his ruined voice barely audible.

She saw him eyeing the containers. “You mean the tins? What are you, like 25? 30? And you can’t get in a fucking tin can! Are you simple or something?”

Her scorn turn to true derision as she grabbed a strange, two handled implement and threw it at him. His arms barely responded quick enough to catch it before it fell to the floor, and some shuffling ensued as he tried to inspect it without dropping his supplies.

“Scrawny hobo, meet tin opener. Tin opener, meet scrawny hobo.”

He looked at the contraption with exasperation. How in Hel’s name was it supposed to work? Clearly the woman noticed, for he heard a heavy sigh and a grumbled profanity. She grabbed one of the tins she had collected, he recognised it as the one he threw at the wall earlier, and used the _tin opener_ to pry the lid off. Fascinating.

She handed it to him, and Loki devoured the fruit inside as though it were cut from the golden apples of Idunn’s orchard. He couldn’t suppress a groan as he drank the syrupy liquid remaining in the tin; it tasted like the sweetest of nectars as it soothed his ravaged throat.

When his eyes returned to the woman, he noticed her shocked expression. Clearly she wasn’t expecting such a display over some measly fruit. He felt his cheeks flush under her attention. Damn this treacherous mortal form.

“Bloody hell! When was the last time you ate?” Her scorn seemed to have thawed into begrudging pity. Loki wasn’t sure which he preferred.

“I don’t recall,” was his only response. Were he to reply that it had been months, possibly years, this mortal would take him for a madman. It was bad enough being seen as weak. He didn’t need her looking at him like a simpleton.

“Right, well good luck with that.” Abruptly the woman turned and walked away. She was going to leave him!

“Wait!” He shouted, hating himself for how pathetic he sounded. “I --- Please. Don’t leave me.”

The woman stopped, but stood with her back to him. He couldn’t see her expression; couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“I’m not familiar with --- I’m not from around here. Please.” Words failed him in his desperation.

_What’s the matter? Silver tongue turned to lead._

He hoped from the softening in her expression earlier that pity was the right route to take. Unlike many of the Aesir, Loki was willing to put aside his honour when needs be. Survival was more important. His pride could be nursed later.

“Look mate, I don’t travel with people. It’s nothing personal. They only slow me down.” She threw the terse response over her shoulder, and he heard the implications. _You’re weak. You’ll only get me killed. The only use for a scrawny runt like you is firewood._

“You may not think it to look at me, but my skill with a knife is unrivaled. I already owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my life. I swear if you aid me now, I shall pay you back threefold. It is always beneficial to have a second pair of eyes when one finds themselves in hostile territory.”

The woman sighed, heavy and world weary. As she turned back to him, Loki could see that he had won.

“Fine, you lanky git. We camp here tonight. Help me barricade this door.”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The silence in this place was pervasive. It hung thick in the air like a warning. Loki and the woman sat awkwardly in a downstairs room. Darkness had fallen outside, and thick drapes covered the windows

 blocking out any light that could have been gained from the night sky.

“Stop them seeing us,” the woman had mumbled as she secured the windows in that fashion.

At least an hour or two had passed since she had shown him how to open the tins, and Loki had used that time well, gorging himself on different fruits and preserved meats, including a strange substance called ‘tuna’ which looked and smelled rather repulsive, but had a surprisingly pleasant taste.

So they sat, adding to the silence. Loki felt comfortably full for the first time since his capture, and he blamed this for the comforting feeling in his chest.

It certainly wasn’t because he was no longer alone.

“May I ask your name?” He spoke gently, so as not to startle her.

She hesitated. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but the rustle of movement betrayed the discomfort she felt at his sudden questioning.

“Mary,” She responded. He didn’t believe her for a second. “And yours?”

He considered lying in return, but he didn’t know what Midgardian names were common in these parts. He realised he didn’t even know where he was. He recognised the language as the same the Avengers had spoken, though her accent was startlingly like his own. He had learnt many Midgardian languages in his studies, partly to relieve his boredom, and partly because he hated to rely on the All-Tongue. He was inherently distrustful of any magic that was not his own. It was just as well, for in this mortal form he had only his knowledge.

Mostly though, the fallen god was tired, so he allowed the mortal this little truth. She scoffed as he stated his name. “Weren’t lying about the ‘not from around here’ part then? What are you, Scandinavian?”

He hummed non-committedly. Allow her to believe that. Often the greatest lies were the ones that victims made for themselves.

“So what was that shit with the zombie earlier” Apparently his question had prompted her to start an interrogation.

“Apologies, but what is a ‘zom-bee’,” he asked, enunciating the word carefully.

“You’re fucking kidding me right? Those dead guys that have been all over the country these last few months? Those walking corpses from kids’ nightmares and nerds’ wet dreams? Any of this ringing a bell?”

“The draugur? Its appearance caught me by surprise. I would never have expected to see one in this realm.”

“This _realm_? If I were you, Shakespeare, I’d head back wherever you came from. Things are no better here. At least you’ll have a better chance in familiar ground.”

“I can’t go back.” Loki responded quietly, his shame and hopelessness seeping into the words. Was there anything left of Asgard to return to? Would he even wish to go back? Nothing remained there for him now.

That marked the end of their short conversation.

Sleep pushed against Loki’s consciousness, despite his efforts to resist it. He had hoped to remain alert through the night, for sleeping in the presence of a stranger on an unknown realm was absolute madness, but the strain of his recent ordeals had taken its toll on his mind as well as his body.

Eventually he gave in, and let his mind to make some feeble attempt at recovery.

He dreamt of glassy eyes, and a booming voice that he would never hear again.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Loki awoke to the sight of daylight peering around the edges of the thick drapes. His held was pounding less than the previous day, though his dreams had left him troubled. His stomach growled for sustenance, and he stretched his limbs in preparation for the trip to the kitchen.

Then he noticed. The woman was gone.

He saw a scrawled note sat on the backpack she had found for him yesterday.

All it said was: _Sorry Loki, truly._

And thus the fallen god was alone once more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ragnarok was a washout, eh? You had one job Loki!
> 
> Finally some zombie fun, yay! That little tag's been sat up there waiting for its moment. :D
> 
> I always liked the idea of Loki learning loads of languages, just because he could. I'm not overly familiar with the comics, but I know there's an issue of Journey Into Mystery where Kid Loki learns an ancient language in an afternoon, so him knowing several Midgardian tongues isn't beyond the realm of possibility.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it. If see anything you like or dislike, of just if it takes your fancy, then please comment. I like to hear from people :D


	10. To The Bone

 

Chapter 10

Morning found the fallen prince trudging through the abandoned street. Thus far the image of the surroundings had been a dull one. Smashed windows left dark, barren rooms open to the elements. Some had been hastily boarded over; the flimsy wooden panels starkly contrasting with the carefully constructed red brickwork. Dark weeds choked the life out of gardens that had clearly been carefully tended in the past. Empty Midgardian transports lay scattered and askew; ‘cars’ he believed they were called. Thick piles of leaves pressed against brick walls, slowly gathering in as if to herald the advance of the surrounding trees. The road rippled in the wake of their encroaching roots, steadily returning to nature’s state of beautiful disorder.

Loki was unsure whether the faint smell of blood and death was real or brought on by his paranoia.

His senses were significantly dulled in this form. He could pick out the scent of grass and brick and dust brought by the morning breeze, but the scent wasn’t as clear as he was used to. Each smell blended into the other, becoming dull and unremarkable. The sun shone through gathering clouds, but the world wasn’t lit in the way he knew. The colours that should have been vibrant were lacklustre, and leached to grey.

Waking to an empty room and a note of apology last night had thrown him. Loki had thought that he had hit the lowest point he could possibly have fallen to, only to be discarded by a _mere mortal_. It was beyond degrading.

He had been a son, a brother, a conqueror and a king.                  

He had been a monster.

Now he was nothing.

Everything he fought so hard to gain seemed to evade him. His whole life Loki had fought for his father’s approval; fought to step outside the shadow of the golden son. When his aim had been denied him, Loki had let himself fall into the void, hoping to perish rather than face further heartsickness.

Only the void hadn’t led to his demise. Rather it had caused his further enslavement. The fiend, Thanos had taken from him his freedom. He had stripped Loki of his plot and schemes, only to replace them with his own. So Loki had fought on Midgard to be free of the devil’s influence, all the while under the scrutiny of the Other.

And Loki had won. He had filled Thanos’ plans with enough flaws to damn the Titan’s army. He had rallied the mortal defenders in the pretence of disheartening them, and he had ensured their convictions. He had allowed the scientist enough will to build a fall back into his device, and he had placed the portal in a location that couldn’t possibly escape notice. His failure was flawless. His freedom from Thanos was won.

But now all he had struggled to return to: his mother’s warm smile; the golden halls of his home; the overbearing presence of his brother and father; it was all for naught. He should have had time to put it right, to prove himself on the throne of Asgard whilst his father regained his strength, then to eventually return in his own right, with all the glory he deserved.

Now all was lost and darkness ruled. There was nothing left to fight for.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Loki rambled on, unsure of his own intentions. Some small part of his mind hoped to catch the trail of the woman from the day before. She hadn’t responded to him with kindness, but neither had she reacted with open hostility. That was less than could be said for most beings that Loki had encountered of late.

In hindsight, Loki wondered how the woman from yesterday had not recognised him. He had witnessed little of this realm, yet still he knew of the mortals’ obsession with information. He had seen the way their peculiar devices could capture images from one location and send them around the world in the blink of an eye. Surely his large scale attack had drawn such attention.

But then he also knew that Midgard was a much more diverse realm than many of the nine. It was a strange and intricate amalgamation of different countries and governments and peoples. Would one country even care of another’s plight? He knew by the woman’s accent that he was far from the city he had ravaged, but he had no idea whether or not his image had spread this far.

Besides, would any recognise the wraith he had become as the god that once stood among them? Surely not.

Perhaps he was safe here, from recognition at least. He certainly wasn’t safe in any other sense.

The draugur he had encountered the day before could not possibly be alone.

_All over the country these last few months._

That’s what the woman, Mary, had said. How in Hel’s name had draugar become rampant on Midgard? In all the quests and journeys his brother had dragged him on, the only time Loki had come across the walking dead was in Nifleheim. There the souls of the dishonoured dead were cursed; trapped and powerless in their own rotting flesh.

Had Thanos made some sort of pact with the keepers of the draugar? Loki had no knowledge of what dread beasts would hold this duty, but he couldn’t imagine such creatures dealing with a warlord like Thanos. Now could he imagine Thanos allowing another to hold such sway over his forces.

The only other explanation was that the Mad Titan had found his own way to reanimate the dead.

Casting his mind back to the empty eyes of the Chitauri, and the manner in which they had reacted to circumstance, Loki wouldn’t be surprised if they were less living than they appeared. He remembered the way their mood always matched their master’s; they laughed when he felt mirth, and their repulsive faces twisted into grins when he was entertained. Their movement held a bit too much synchronisation to ring true.

The more he thought on it, the more fitting this theory felt. He could imagine Thanos would find such satisfaction in using the mortals’ short lives against them; watching them run in fear as their inevitable dead returned and began taking more lives.

It pained Loki to know that, had the plan been his, he would have found the idea wildly entertaining.

How different the world looked from the mortal’s perspective.

He was going to die. If his death was not brought by one of these shambling creatures, then it would be inflicted by time. The millennia he once took for granted had been stripped from him.

He wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

But he did know that he wouldn’t allow one of Thanos’ pets to infect him with their dark magic. When he died, it would be on his own terms and the Titan would have no hand in it.

Loki was done with being a puppet to that beast.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

In his reverie, Loki had failed to notice the changing weather conditions. The soft breeze of the morning had steadily built into an icy wind that cut like knives against his poorly protected flesh. Light needles of rain had begun to fall, and the gathering clouds didn’t bode well for later in the day.

He cursed himself for rushing out of the house this morn. He should have taken advantage of the supplies at hand. At the very least he should have tried to find some intact clothing.

He was a fool.

He had run after that damned woman without a thought for provisions. The full stomach and quenched thirst of the night before had caused him to let his guard down. Now he was out in an unfamiliar realm, in the beginnings of a storm, with no food, no water, and the barest of rags to cover his mortal form.

The road he had been following aimlessly had long since become void of residences. Instead he was surrounded by large, empty fields. An ominous rumble split the silence, heralding a further onslaught of icy rain.

There was little that could be done. Turning back now would do him little good: his frail form would probably fail before he made it back to the houses, and even if he managed to get to one, who knew how many draugar lay in wait.

So the fallen god wrapped his arms tightly round his chest, rubbing to try and warm himself as he trudged stubbornly onwards, hoping to run into some form of shelter. There was little else to do.

How had he fallen so low?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. Between coursework and the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol, it's taken me two weeks to post this chapter. You have my sincerest apologies.
> 
> I'm not overly familiar with how the nine realms are structured in the comics, as I've only very recently started reading them. So sorry if my version of Nifleheim doesn't fit with canon, but I've constructed it for the purpose of this fic.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, hope you guys enjoyed it :D


	11. Some Small Measure Of Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update. Huzzah!

 

Chapter 11

The storm passed as quickly as it had built. Loki couldn’t thank the Norns enough. He had quickly fallen victim to the elements; his mortal legs had shaken under the strain of his stubbornness as he forced himself onwards against the will of the wind. His rags had only served to aid the elements, the drag of the torn, ragged material threatening to pull him to his back.

He had attempted to take refuge under a nearby tree, but the foliage had provided less than measly coverage against the elements. He had almost begun to miss the endless hunts he had been made to endure with his brother and his entourage. At least in the dense woods of the more ancient realms, the company had been able to settle comfortably among the gnarled roots of colossal ash trees.

From what he had witnessed of Midgard so far, he could only guess that the woods had withered and become shadows of themselves in the face of the mortals’ growing dependence on industry.

Regardless of the reason, little shelter was to be found for Loki. So he merely wrapped his arms tighter around himself and tucked his chin into his chest, both for warmth and to protect his face from the elements. He tried to nestle deeper into one of the banks of browning leaves. This provided him a small amount of relief from the wind, but did little to provide him comfort.

All he could do was wait for it to pass. 

It seemed that by some stroke of luck that he had only caught the edge of the storm. The rain came and passed with perhaps a couple of hours, and the low rumble of thunder that he had heard remained far in the distance.

Loki had felt the bite of his brother’s element many a time in the past. He did not dare to think that this mortal form would be able to withstand such a thing. It would be a strange sort of irony, he supposed, to be killed by the power that his brother had once wielded so proudly.

Perhaps if the thunder storm had come closer, Loki would have done little to escape its wrath.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The afternoon found Loki stumbling into new territory. The onslaught of the morning’s rain had left him cold and aching, but filled with renewed purpose.

He needed to find supplies, so he wouldn’t be in a position of such weakness again.

The woman he had sought was long gone by now. No doubt with her long coat and provisions the weather had been little more than a hindrance to her.

It was time to make plans of his own.

The desolate road that he had been following all day had begun to widen, and he could see that in the distance it curved behind a large embankment. The terrain brought an eerie reminder of some of the valley ambushes that Thor had walked his entourage into in the past; the fool’s arrogant approach to _everything_ had brought them more than enough trouble with such obvious traps.

So rather than continue to follow the road, Loki decided to scale the embankment, in order to better view the situation.

The hill wasn’t steep, but Loki couldn’t help but thank his earlier foolishness to some extent: it was Hel enough trying to drag his own scrawny form up there without having to worry about being laden down with provisions. As it was, his knees ached and his lungs hurt from breathing too heavily. By Odin’s beard! How did the mortals live like this?

Upon reaching the top of the embankment though, Loki was glad he had made the effort. He wouldn’t have wanted to walk into such a place without warning.

The curving road he had followed all day joined up to a vast stretch of… well Loki hadn’t a word for it. It was constructed of the same material as the road, as far as he could tell, but his path was far too gargantuan to be named as such. He could have felled the greatest of trees of Idunn’s orchard, and even that could not have stretched its width.

But that wasn’t the first thing that Loki took note of, for what lay on the great road was far more concerning.

Hundreds upon hundreds of Midgardian vehicles lay abandoned upon its surface. Many sat in neat lines, one behind the other, but a considerable amount had been thrown askew or overturned; Far too many had doors left open to the elements, as if exited in a great hurry.

The whole scene held an unnatural stillness. This place should have been crawling with people. In all his somewhat chaotic memories of his attack on the great mortal city, swarming mortals had been at the forefront, scampering in all directions as a herd of sheep flees from the wolf.

He should have felt triumphant, walking in the ruins of the mortal’s civilisation. Surely this is what the city streets would have looked like, had he won his war. He should have been glad to see the evidence of so many mortal lives being destroyed.

But instead, he just felt sad.

And utterly, utterly alone.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

After taking a few moments to collect himself, Loki decided that his only choice was to descend amongst the vehicles and try to find supplies. There was no point in returning to the buildings he had passed by in the morn, and he couldn’t risk getting caught up in that storm again.

But he had no idea how far the draugar had roamed. These ‘cars’ had obviously been abandoned for a reason. Had the undead caused these people to flee? Could there still be some lurking around?

He would have to be careful. As of yet, he had no idea of the extent of these beings’ intelligence. How sentient were they, if they were at all? Did they actively hunt down their prey, or did they merely shamble about, waiting for their next meal to present itself?

It was better to be safe than sorry. Luckily, his soft leather boots had remained mostly intact. They were light enough that he could move quietly, and he wouldn’t need to go barefoot. The wind was in his favour, but he decided to try and mask his scent anyway. There was no use taking half measures when it could be avoided. He removed the tattered rags of his shirt; it was no use in protecting him from the elements, and it smelled too strongly of himself. If the draugar hunted by smell, it could get him killed. He tried to cover the scent on his body as much as he could using earth and damp leaves; it made little difference, but a little could be enough.

 With extreme caution, Loki skulked towards the closest of the vehicles. He planned to move in, grab supplies, and leave. The less time he was there, the less likely he was to run into one of those things.

But Loki had made a lot of plans lately, and none of them had gone the way he had hoped.

From up close, Loki got a different view of the abandoned vehicles. It seems not all of the occupants had made it out alive.

Withered husks sat in many of the cars: their dried out sockets still seemed to behold the terror of that which had killed them. Bodies lay between the vehicles, clearly fallen in their attempts to flee.

It was just lucky for him that none of them had risen yet.

He slunk from car to car, trying to find anything of use. He managed to grab a pack from one, but it was filled with objects he didn’t recognise. He left behind all but a couple of foil wrapped objects with _dairy milk_ written on them in an elaborate hand. That looked like it could be edible.

It took him several attempts to figure out how to open the doors, and doing so made more noise than he had hoped. So for the most part, he tried to scavenge from only those left open. He didn't known what he was hoping for, but Loki had found far fewer supplies than he had thought. It seemed each of the cars had a storage compartment in the back, but he didn't have the time to dally around trying to open it.

So he tried to prioritise. He had had a rather large meal the previous evening, and was not an incapable hunter, so Loki decided clothing was the main necessity. But to get that, he would have to stoop lower than he ever could have imagined.

He had found no stored clothing or luggage in the vehicles, but that didn’t mean there was none available. After all… these people had hardly died in the nude.

So he picked out one of the bodies that looked to be wearing suitable attire, and began to remove it. The poor sod looked to have been rather large in life, though his sunken flesh no longer filled out his clothes. The stench of rot death covered everything, but that could only serve as a benefit to hide his own scent from any lurking draugar.

He dragged the corpse from the vehicle that it resided in. It was a large one, a ‘truck’ he believed it was called, and so he was careful to lower it down steadily. Its clothing fit him surprisingly well; a dirty brown shirt and thick leather jacket, as well as rough trousers made of a strange blue material. Upon removing these, Loki had been delighted to find a knife wedged into the man’s belt. It pained him to have to resort to stealing a dead man’s clothes, but Loki was a survivor. And besides: the dead man had no further use for it.

He decided to keep his own boots for the time being, as the man’s footwear were slightly too large for him. Besides, he wanted to keep at least one item of his Aesir attire. He may never see his home again, but he was not yet ready to relinquish all connection to it.

Having had so much luck with the man’s attire, Loki decided to rummage through the rest of his vehicle. This one was not like the others; it only had two seats inside, and the back was open in a way reminiscent of a carriage. It was covered in the strange material that the mortals seem so fond of; the woman from yesterday had called it ‘plastic’.

Removing it was difficult whilst trying to remain silent, as it made an awful crinkling sound, but he had been amongst the vehicles for at least an hour now and had seen neither hide nor hair of any draugar, so he felt safe enough to do so.

He was more than grateful that he made the effort.

It seems the man who owned the truck had been more than a little prepared. Under the plastic he found bags filled with canned and plastic coated food, as well as blankets and other assorted objects that it would appear mortals used for camping.

He began packing as much as he could carry. Who knew how long it would be before he came across another wealth of resources such as this?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The giddy feeling of ‘success at last’ made Loki drop his guard; an unforgivable failing. As he zipped up his pack, now swelled to bursting with provisions, he heard a clatter of metal nearby.

Instantly, he dropped into a crouch, his eyes frantically scanning the nearby area. His tried to slow his breathing, as to his ears the sound of it was grating through the silence.

For precious moments, he heard no more movement. He began to wonder if it was his paranoia punishing him for his lack of attention.

But to his dismay, he began to hear a rustling sound nearby. Had he his godlike senses, he would have been able to pinpoint exactly where. As it was, he only knew it was somewhere on the other side of the truck.

Silently, he dropped down to his stomach, pressing his cheek against the road in an effort to see under the vehicle. The dying light of the afternoon made it difficult to discern, but Loki was fairly certain that what he saw was four spindly legs, rather than two rotting ones like he had feared.

Returning to his feet, Loki steadily edged around the vehicle, until he could get a good view of the disturbance. His heart swelled a little at the sight.

It was a dog. Its coat was black as pitch and tangled with mud, though it didn’t look to be in too bad shape. The creature was clearly malnourished, but not sickeningly so. Either there was a lot of easy game in the area, or it had been cared for fairly recently.

The hound’s ears pricked up as it acknowledged Loki’s presence, but as it turned it didn’t appear to be rabid; merely anxious.

Its dark brown eyes looked to Loki, and for a moment he felt fear. If this beast chose to attack him, he would be in trouble. It didn’t look overly formidable, but certainly dangerous enough to pose a threat in his weakened state.

Luckily for the fallen god, the hound didn’t seem likely to do so. It gave a small snarl of warning as Loki crept forwards, but stopped when he paused and raised his hands in placating gesture.

It brought a smile to Loki’s lips. “Look at you, you beautiful thing,” he cooed as he carefully edged forwards, making sure not to startle the poor creature. The dog remained still, allowing his advance.

When he was around two feet away, Loki dropped to his knee, and reached for his pack. He kept his movements slow and well telegraphed as he opened a can of the strange pink meat.

He held some in his open palm, outstretched in invitation.

That was all it took for the animal to close the distance, and gratefully take the offered food. Loki chuckled lightly, and ran his hand over the tattered creature’s coat. Its fur had become greasy and tangled, but it was nothing that couldn’t be solved with a little care.

Back on Asgard, Loki had always been fond of dogs. Most he had come into contact with were bred for hunting, although it was not uncommon for noblemen and women to train them as pets and companions. Most were larger, and more aggressive looking than this one, but Loki recalled many a time in his youth when he had snuck past the stable master to play with the puppies in the hay.

He had never owned one of the animals himself; he was always far too busy with court life to take care of another creature. But now, he couldn’t think of anything better than a loyal hound to accompany his through the mess that had become his life.

“I think I’ll be keeping you” he declared, giving the animal a quick pet, and a scratch behind the ears.

 As he led the way through the abandoned vehicles and the dog began to follow, Loki felt the first sparks of happiness that he had experienced in a very long time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Loki got a dog :D He's a german shepherd, if you were wondering.
> 
> As for Loki's journey through Midgard, the 'great road' he just reached is the M25 motorway. I may have over-exaggerated it a bit, but I bloody hate that road, and it feels good to demonise it :)
> 
> Thank you, everyone, for your comments :D You guys are awesome


	12. From Small Beginnings

 

Chapter 12

The setting sun brought new challenges for Loki, but somehow, with the dog at his back, he didn’t feel so lost.

Emotionally lost, of course. He still had no idea where in Hel he was.

A strange little device he had found in the mortal’s luggage told him he was heading north, and he had somehow managed to wander towards a fairly densely wooded area. It seemed his earlier conception of Midgard’s forests had been incorrect.

This realm continued to surprise him.

With the dog at his heel, Loki ventured deep into the shadow of the woods, feeling an overwhelming sense of comfort as the patchwork canopy dulled the glare of the dying sun. This was an environment he was familiar with: far from the rigid rows of mortal buildings or the isolating openness of their fields.

After quickly scouting out the area, Loki settled down with his back against the gnarled bark of a substantially sized oak. The dog, who had been cautiously trailing the fallen prince all day, dropped to his haunches a couple of paces away. His ears remained perked, and his eyes wide in an obvious effort to remain guarded around this stranger.

The setting sun took with it the evening’s remaining warmth, and a chill breeze had begun to spread through the branches. Had this been a regular hunt, Loki would have chosen this moment to start a fire. As it was however, the signalling light and smoke seemed ill advised in the unfamiliar territory.

Due to his dry, if almost unbearably odoured clothing, the cold didn’t seem as pressing as it had this morning. The Midgardian clothing was surprisingly effective at blocking out the wind, despite its somewhat fragile structure. He would have preferred more leather layers, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Whilst nestling further into a comfortable nook in the oak’s trunk, Loki reached for some of the supplies he had gathered. Unable to read the labels in the dying light, he settled for the same pink meat he had eaten before, along with some nameless fruit.

The dog didn’t seem to mind the poor cuisine, as Loki handed him small chunks of each. The animal was surprisingly careful as he took each bite from Loki’s palm; one would think that a beast so clearly starved would act more ravenously.

Between the two of them, they managed to consume four whole cans of food before the night sky finally made itself known. The canopy of the woods was thin enough to allow the moonlight to filter through.

Through the gaps in the leaves, Loki could see Midgard’s stars for the first time. He had never taken the opportunity during the invasion; besides, the light from the human settlements would have prevented him from doing so.

It was always a somewhat freeing experience for Loki, to see the stars of a new realm. In all his journeys, he had never felt truly away from home until he had seen the sun fall and new constellations fill the sky.

That was not to say that he didn’t miss Asgard’s sky. The realm would always be his home, but the memories associated with those stars were stifling. He remembered his mother sitting with him on his balcony for endless hours, telling him stories of the constellations. He remembered her telling him about the great warriors of old, who battled dragons and trolls in the night sky. He remembered sitting on her lap as she stroked his hair and told him their names.

But most importantly, he remembered when she stopped. She stopped comforting him in the night, when the dreams of ice and blood haunted his sleep. He was supposed to be a man then, following in the lessons of war that his brother had so proudly mastered. It wasn’t prudent for him to hide in children’s stories any more.

So he could never look at Asgard’s stars without feeling that sense of loss.

Here though, the stars were new. He could find his own patterns in their radiant trails, and he could build his own stories; tales that he weaved for himself, and himself alone.

So as the weary dog eventually gave into its need for warmth and snuggled closely to Loki’s side, he covered them both with a thick blanket and looked skywards. Running his fingers through the dog’s thick coat, he concocted tales to keep the nightmares at bay.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sleep had overcome the lost god at some time during the night. The half lucid dreams of one not truly at rest harried at him; their disjointed manner only increasing his terror.

But eventually his nightmares passed.  He knew such dreams would plague him until his end, so he decided to take comfort each time a new day came, and his misery was halted.

For a short time at least.

The first thing Loki became aware of was the assault on his eyes from the harsh light of dawn. It cast a pale pink glow even through his lids, causing him to scrunch them in discomfort.

The second thing he became aware of was the itch across his jaw. Spindly fingers rose to inspect the thin dusting of stubble breaking through the skin. Well that was new. He had always used magic to prevent such an inconvenience, but now he didn’t have the means to ride himself of it. His water supply was very limited, and he was more likely to cut his own throat than the coarse hairs with the slightly dull knife he had acquired.

It became just another discomfort in this strange new existence he had found for himself.

The dog had woken, his warm eyes looking up at Loki from where his head had come to rest in his lap. His muddy coat looked even more tangled and unruly in the morning light. What a pair they made.

There was little that could be done about it now. Until they found a lake or stream of some sorts, the two were going to have to settle with being filthy. Loki tore a small strip of fabric from his shirt and bound his hair, before moving to pack up the supplies.

There was nothing to be done but to keep moving.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Midway through the day, the two came upon a small settlement. There were few houses, maybe a dozen in total, spread haphazardly on the edge of the woods. The buildings looked like the first lot he had come across: overgrown and hastily abandoned.

Under normal circumstances, he would have just skirted around the village. His supplies were well stocked for now, and there was no sense risking a confrontation with draugar so needlessly.

However, as Loki crept from the security of the woodlands, he became aware of the sounds of a struggle nearby.

His dog’s ears perked up at the growls and roars of draugar that could be heard; by the sounds of it there were certainly more than one.

But also he could hear a person, perhaps a young man or a woman, he thought.

Lowering into a crouch, he slunk from the cover of the trees to the neares to the buildings, and began edging round in order to get a better view. His dog followed close behind. His hackles raised as his lips curled in a snarl.

Loki could not believe what he saw.

In the middle of the street, battling three burly draugar, was none other than the woman who had abandoned him the morning before.

She looked to be in bad shape: the wound down the side of her face had been reopened, and she seemed to be favouring her left side. The ground was strewn with corpses. It seemed this mortal had managed to take down at least another two draugar with her metal bar.

But the odds were not in her favour. The three remaining beasts were much larger than her, and she appeared to be tiring. If they attacked her all at once, then her survival prospects were terribly poor.

Of course, if Loki helped her, she would most likely live to fight another day. It wouldn’t take much for him to draw the attention of the beasts, and now that he was fed, rested and armed he would be more than capable of bringing them down.

But she had abandoned him.

He had been weak, starving and desperate, and she had left him to face this unfamiliar world alone.

Loki was no hero. The callous war he had undergone the previous year had not been his own, and he never would have plotted the death of so many mortals, but that did not mean that he valued their lives above his own. He had followed Thanos’ orders so that the Titan’s rage would not be taken out on his flesh, and had he the chance to go back, he couldn’t be certain he would make a different choice.

He did what he had to in order to survive. There were none left whose lives he would place before his own. Certainly not this mortal who had left him behind.

What was her life worth to him?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

His knife entered the base of the first draugur’s skull, just above the spine. Blood gushed out of the wound, but it was cold and thick. There was not nearly as much as there should have been, but enough to stain his hands. Loki supported the body just enough for it to fall the ground silently, so that its two fellows before him didn’t even realise he was there.

The woman did though. Her eyes widened in shock, and then recognition as the remaining corpses advanced on her. She caught Loki’s eyes, and there he detected a glimmer of guilt.

But the time for that was later. She purposely shifted her view to the largest of the draugar, and then back to Loki. The intention was clear. He would take that one, and she would kill the one that remained.

That was fine by him.

This time the beast was significantly larger, so Loki charged it first, ramming it to the floor. By the time it even acknowledged his presence, Loki’s knife had broken through its temple, ending its horrifying existence.

The wet crunches of metal impacting on bone could be heard to his right, but he ignored it for now.  With only one draugur left, the woman could take care of herself.

Instead he turned back, to see the dog cowering behind the building he had passed. Clearly the poor hound had seen enough of these beasts.

After wiping his blade clean and returning it to his belt, Loki crouched in his placating pose once more, and held his hand out. On this occasion, it took significantly less time before the dog was bounding towards him and lapping at his face with an overexcited tongue.

His chuckles died at the sound of the woman walking towards him.

Suddenly tense, he rose to meet her eye, only to find her looking nervously at the ground.

“I guess I should thank you…” she started, only to be interrupted by Loki’s snort of derision. An awkward silence fell between them, threatened only by the happy shuffling of the dog at his feet.

He could let her stew like this, filled with guilt and shame. He could walk away without a word; just leave as she had done.

But Loki was tired. He understood why she had done what she did: he had been a liability in a world of uncertainty. He couldn’t be certain that he wouldn’t have done the same in her shoes.

But he could be certain that had he done so, he wouldn’t have felt remorse as she did. He could see it in her stance, the way her arms crossed her chest, as one hand nervously rubbed he elbow. Her eyes were still downcast in shame, as if afraid to meet the eyes of the man she had wronged.

Perhaps that made her a better person than him. Perhaps that made her weak.

Either way, Loki decided to accept her thanks.

“I believe I owed you a debt.” He didn't mention the fact that there had been no witness to this, so had he allowed her to die he would have been free of what he owed. Not even Heimdall was left to oversee their bargain.

His slight grin and cheerful tone seemed to put her more at ease, and she took a moment to appraise him properly.

“You’re looking better,” she commented, her lingering glance taking in his new clothing and the lack of trembling in his limbs.

“Indeed. Though I can’t say much for the stench, I’m afraid.”

A shared laugh between the two did wonders to relieve the tension.  The woman bent to pet the dog whilst Loki took a quick glance at the surroundings.

They were well and truly alone. The sounds of the struggle would have attracted any nearby draugar, but there was no sight of movement anywhere in the vicinity. Perhaps there was a bed to be found in one of these buildings; he couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in one.

“You weren’t lying when you said you were good with a knife.”

“I was not.” He let that hang there for a moment. She had seen now that he was a strength, rather than a burden. Perhaps a new bargain could be made here. “Though you were lying when you agreed to travel with me.”

She looked away again, though he noticed her eyes flood before she had a chance to hide it. Had he stumbled upon something here? She seemed far too ashamed for abandoning a stranger. Perhaps the apology in her note had been more sincere than he had given credit for.

“I would offer you the same again, if you are interested. Two sets of eyes are better than one, and you have seen now that I have more to offer than my first appearance would have suggested.”

She wiped her eyes in a gesture that would have been subtle, and probably unnoticeable to anyone but him.

“You would trust me? After I left you?”

“I would.” He responded quietly, finding to his surprise that he spoke true. “Though know that if you lie to me again, and I wake to find you gone, I will hunt you down and leave no quarter. If you do not care for our bargain, speak now and we shall part ways. But nobody fools me twice.”

Her shoulders tensed at this, though he could not discern her expression. Perhaps he had spoken too harshly? But it had needed to be said.

Her eyes were hard once more when she turned back to him. The soft breeze danced around them as she calculated the extent of his resolve.

“I don’t mean to threaten.” He conceded. “I say this only to warn you. My pride has been torn asunder of late, and my stubborn nature will not allow it another blow. I mean you no harm.”

“Who are you? You don’t talk like anyone I’ve met.”

He question caught him off guard, so he just answered it as truthfully as he could allow.

“I am Loki. And I am no one.”

She slowly nodded in acceptance, allowing that answer even though she was clearly unsatisfied by it. She held out her hand, and he grasped her forearm in the way that is customary between warriors and their companions. She seemed startled by the gesture, but then accepted it with a grin.

“Well then Loki, there’s some good houses around here.” She gestured to the empty properties before meeting his gaze once more. Then, to his total surprise, a warm smile broke out on her face: the likes of which he hadn’t seen in far too long.

“Let’s go steal their shit.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Loki's starting to build his own Scooby gang :D Or at least that's how I like to think of it.
> 
> Now they just have to try not to get eaten by zombies. It's the small obstacles that make life so interesting :P
> 
> Till next week, guys :D Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
